


People Like Us

by aterribleinfluence, Blizzaurus



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aterribleinfluence/pseuds/aterribleinfluence, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blizzaurus/pseuds/Blizzaurus
Summary: 'He is hard from the moment you walk through the doors. Every second of the day he wants you, but he can't do anything about it. Every single move you make, every wry smile and lilting word that leaves your lips sets his blood on fire. He needs to fuck you so badly he can't breathe, yet he holds himself back. He locks himself in his office or gets out of town to just keep himself away from you. He knows he can't touch you. He knows he can never have you...'From the 2019 Kabby Kink MemeKinky Kabby Modern AU. Abby's lonely and horny and bored at her job, so she enters into a submissive relationship with an anonymous Dom online - what she doesn't know is that he's actually her asshole boss Marcus Kane, who knows exactly who it is he's ordering around...





	1. Chapter 1

_ -> So what do you need to know? About me I mean? To do this? _

_ -> Nothing. Actually the less I know the better. Anonymity is part of the fun. A name would be useful though, but it doesn’t have to be your real one _

_ -> Abby _

_ -> Pretty name. It suits you _

_ -> You don’t know me _

_ -> I know you’re bored and you’re lonely and you’re horny, and that’s why you approached me. I know I’ve done this before and you haven’t. And I know that you’re still thinking that you might back out, that you might just log off and pretend this never happened...but you won’t _

_ -> How can you be so sure? _

_ -> Because you need something from me. You need someone to tell you what to do. You need someone to give you what you’ve been missing all this time without knowing it. You need someone to take care of you _

_ -> Is that what you’re going to do? _

_ -> It’s the sole purpose of my existence _

_ -> So...what do I call you? _

_ -> If you need to call me anything, ‘Sir’ will do _

_ -> That makes me feel like I’m back in school _

_ -> Is that a problem? _

_ -> No, Sir _

_ -> Good girl. I’m going to take care of you, Abby. You’ll see _

* * *

Things might have turned out very differently, Marcus thought later, if it hadn’t rained that day.

The rain had been a spur-of-the-moment inspiration, not part of the initial plan. His plan had been to gently break in his new partner – perhaps a conceit to call her that, but it was the word that always felt most appropriate to him, as ‘lover’ was something of a misnomer where no romance or even physical contact was involved – since she was new to this whole thing. Start out slowly, build her confidence, find out what she liked and what her limits were. He always loved this first part, and the brief conversations he’d had with Abby made him sure he was going to like her very much as they got to know each other better. Know each other better in certain very  _ specific  _ ways, anyway.

The fact that his newest partner had chosen the same name as the gorgeous, infuriating employee who he had a really persistent, irrepressible  _ thing _ for? Well that was just an added bonus.

The ‘thing’ Marcus had for Abby Griffin – the thing he had been quietly nursing for all the years they’d worked together – was more or less under control these days. Bar the occasional incredibly vivid fantasy about bending her over his desk and fucking her senseless. But the two of them didn’t get on and never had, and so it wasn’t difficult for him to limit the time they had to spend alone in each other’s company at least, and that meant he was fairly certain she was blissfully unaware of any less-than-professional thoughts he might have about her. He was fairly certain she  _ hated _ him, actually, although due to the level of fucked-up that he was that didn’t actually make her any less appealing to him.

But then, fucked-up was a matter of perspective, wasn’t it? A lot of people would have considered his... _ personal  _ life a little fucked-up, but it worked for him. He kept it secret of course, but out of a reasonable idea of privacy rather than any kind of shame.

_ -> When I give you orders I expect them to be carried out. I may ask for evidence of that. What I require from you is total trust, total obedience _

_ -> And if you tell me to do something I don’t want to do? _

_ -> Then you don’t have to do it. But this is over the moment that happens. This is not supposed to be easy, Abby. I’m going to challenge you, to make you do things you’ve never done before. But there is no reward without risk, no pleasure without pain _

_ -> You like causing pain? _

_ -> I like inspiring pleasure. The route to that isn’t always easy for people like us _

_ -> People like us? _

_ -> People who need something a little different to truly make us feel alive _

Marcus may not have been the happiest or most fulfilled person in general, but in this at least he had found something that made him feel...well, something that made him  _ feel. _ He liked that heady sense of power that came from giving orders and having them obeyed without question, of instructing, teaching, punishing when necessary. He liked that sense of control, and if there was one thing he’d learnt in all his time doing this it was that there was no shame in admitting that – it was a fantasy, after all, and always strictly consensual. He had no interest in controlling women beyond the metaphorical bedroom, and no interest whatsoever in entering any kind of relationship with anyone who wasn’t getting just as much out of it as he was. What would be the point?

Because more than anything, what Marcus liked was feeling as though he was giving his partners something they  _ needed. _ That was really where the pleasure lay in the whole thing for him. He liked to imagine them waiting by their phones, hoping for the next message, wondering what he would do – or ask _ them  _ to do – next. He liked the idea of being someone’s dirty little secret. He had never been good at real relationships, never been a decent romantic prospect; too cold, too self-contained, too married to his work. But in this role he could let loose, be more himself than he ever dared be in his public life, and he was _ wanted _ for it.

It was good to be wanted.

Marcus had met up with a couple of women he’d played this game with, long ago when he had first started dabbling in these particular waters, but it hadn’t gone well. Not that it had gone  _ badly _ , exactly...the sex had been good, but the sex had been all they had wanted, and all they assumed  _ he _ wanted. The first had been a middle aged woman who had responded to his orders before they’d met with a cool nerve that had impressed and intrigued him, but in person had treated him as little more than a prostitute, even though no money ever exchanged hands. The other had been even worse – a younger woman who had been so sweet and responsive and eager to learn, but when they had met seemed only guilty and embarrassed, and could barely meet his eyes. They’d slept together anyway, because she had seemed to genuinely want to and looked devastated when he tactfully tried to give her an out, but after what had been a pretty damn good and enthusiastic fuck she had gone back to being guilty and embarrassed again and Marcus had thought:  _ never again. _

It was better this way. This way anyone he entered into a relationship with was kept at arm’s length, with him as nothing more than a fantasy. No messy, complicated emotions, no disappointments. This way he could be whatever they wanted him to be. And they could be whoever he imagined them to be.

Until that day when it rained.

* * *

For the first time in almost twenty years, Abby Griffin was wearing lingerie.

Really nice,  _ expensive  _ lingerie at that. She had gasped aloud at the price tag when she’d first laid eyes on it in the link her new friend had sent her along with today’s instructions, but he had paid for it up-front, transferred the money straight into her new anonymous account without hesitation. It struck Abby as a remarkably trusting thing to do – after all, he had no way to know she wouldn’t just keep the money and run. He must have been telling the truth about being able to read people well, to know that she wouldn’t.

Or maybe he was just rich enough that a few hundred dollars was something he could easily afford to lose.

_ Don’t _ , she told herself sternly.  _ Don’t try and figure out what kind of person he is. _

The whole point of this little...arrangement was that it was totally anonymous. He had explained it to her in detail, laying out exactly what was expected from her and what she could expect from him. But the most important thing was that neither of them would ever know any personal details about each other, anything that could identify them. Abby had chosen this particular man-with-an-apparent-fondness-for-red-lingerie because he’d had good reviews on the sites she’d been on, an established reputation. And she had liked him when they’d struck up a conversation too – he had been frank, but not patronising, confident without seeming arrogant. She had enough arrogant men in her life to deal with already.

And now, on his orders, she was heading to work in her usual white blouse and gray pencil skirt (no jacket in the summer months like now, but otherwise her outfit remained identical all year round, as she hadn’t much interest in fashion) with ridiculously fancy underwear concealed beneath. It was crazy, but it _ did _ feel kind of different making her morning commute like this, kind of...exciting. And it was surprisingly comfortable too, this gorgeous silk and lace confection in vivid crimson; the bra that pushed her breasts together and made her cleavage look  _ incredible _ – not that anyone would see it – and the delicate, gauzy little panties that felt like they were barely there at all. There were even  _ garters _ , which Abby hadn’t trusted at all, but were holding up her sheer stockings pretty well so far. And they made her feel sexy as hell, which she guessed was the point.

What her wealthy benefactor got out of this she wasn’t sure. She had heard of men who liked to spend money on women to feel powerful, so maybe that was part of it. There was also clearly an aspect simply of giving orders and having them obeyed that he enjoyed, since that was the basis of the arrangement they’d made, the same one he’d had with several women before her.

He had asked her for pictures, when she’d first put on the lingerie, and she had obliged – being careful not to show her face, of course. She hadn’t gotten any response since then, but the idea of this man out there in the city somewhere looking at her almost-naked body made her feel a little jittery and excited. She was really doing this...and this was only the beginning.

Abby was so distracted that she nearly missed her usual stop on the train and had to hustle to make it through the doors before they closed. She was already set to be late for work, and her asshole boss didn’t need another excuse to give her a dressing down, something he clearly enjoyed. Still, she couldn’t resist whipping out her phone as soon as she was away from the prying eyes of her fellow train-car passengers to see if she had gotten another message. As she made her way up to street level, however, a familiar sound became clearer with every step, and when she could see the sky outside it confirmed her suspicions. Shit. It was  _ pouring _ with rain, the kind of sudden cloudburst that summer in the city could bring without warning. She wouldn’t be able to check her phone as she walked in weather like this, so in spite of her lateness she huddled briefly in the entrance of the subway to see if she had received her next instruction, as promised.

_ -> Don’t use your umbrella _

Abby stared at the message, mouth agape. Was he  _ insane? _ What the hell did this have to do with... _ anything? _ It was another block to the office; what part of getting soaked to the skin and miserable on the way to work was sexy?

She bit her lip and glanced out of the subway entrance. He wouldn’t actually be able to tell if she did this anyway, would he? It wasn’t as if he could check up on her....

As if on cue, another message pinged her phone:

_ -> This relationship is about trust, Abby. It’s about letting go of control and obeying. I need you to do this, not question it _

Oh. A test then. A weird one, but he was right – she had signed up for this. And at least it wasn’t cold rain, so it wouldn’t be _ too _ uncomfortable. Abby wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. She squared her shoulders and stepped out.

When she arrived at her office building a few minutes later, she was soaked, out of breath from a very undignified dash along the street, and more than a little annoyed. The security guard on duty – a new guy whose name she didn’t yet know – was looking at her askance. Abby forced a smile at him.

“Forgot my umbrella,” she lied. She pulled her hair out of her customary ponytail and used the tie just to hold back the front part, to keep the sodden strands out of her eyes, figuring it would dry faster loose. The security guard was still watching her, presumably appalled at her dripping all over the pristine marble floor of the lobby.

“At least it’s a warm day, I guess I’ll dry out,” she said, trying to overcome the awkwardness of the moment.

The man just stared at her, and Abby started to feel a little annoyed. Was it really so goddamn shocking that a woman arrive to work anything less than utterly pristine? Sure she probably looked pretty bedraggled, but what did it matter to him, anyway?

“Well, have a good day,” she said, a touch frostily, as she walked past and headed to the elevator.

“Uh...right,” said the guard. “Yeah, you too.”

Abby pulled out her phone and sent off a quick message as she walked through the lobby, sensible heels clacking on the marble floor.

_ -> I’m soaked _

The reply came immediately.

_ -> Good. I’m glad to know my present will be appreciated by everyone _

Present? What the hell did he—

The doors to the elevator opened in front of her and as Abby saw her reflection in the mirrored back wall, she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Oh god. The summer rain had soaked through her thin cotton blouse and made it translucent as the skin of an onion, clinging wetly to her skin. The crimson cups of her bra, with the delicate lace edging and the little silk bow in the middle, were clearly visible through the material...as was the plump swell of her breasts, pushed together and barely contained by her outrageously work-inappropriate underwear choice. No wonder the security guy had stared at her. She looked more like a contestant in an up-market wet t-shirt contest than an employee.

She was late enough to have the elevator to herself, and spent the next twenty floors of the ride plucking futilely at her sodden clothing in an attempt to make herself look more decent, and cursing her new ‘friend’ to hell and back, something that would have been a lot easier if she had actually known his name.

The journey to the floor where she worked couldn’t last forever though, and soon enough she was forced to step out into the corridor, where it was still early enough that there were plenty of people about, still settling down for the day’s work. A lot of whom she  _ knew _ , and all of whom did a noticeable double take when they saw her. Abby strode as quickly as possible down the corridor towards her office, trying to ignore the raised eyebrows and furtive darting glances at her from behind coffee mugs and laptop screens. One young man goggled openly, his eyes so round he looked like a cartoon character, and in spite of her embarrassment, Abby suddenly found she had to bite her tongue to stop from laughing.

She turned the corner and was barely a few metres from the relative sanctuary of her office when a familiar voice hailed her.

“Abby.”

There was only one person who could put that level of cold scorn into the two short syllables of her name. Abby turned unwillingly around, her smile fading instantly, to face the one person she really  _ didn’t _ want to see.

Kane. Great.

Her boss was standing just outside his office, and she guessed he’d been waiting to hear her walk past to corner her. Or perhaps had one of his toadies in Accounting phone him to let him know she was on her way. Kane was looking crisply immaculate, as always, in his charcoal gray suit and boring tie. Not one strand of his thick, dark hair out of place, of course, a glaring contrast to the sodden tendrils hanging around her own face. Abby was willing to bet he even ironed those stupid ties.

“Nice to see you’ve finally joined us,” Kane said. “You didn’t bring an umbrella?”

“I forgot,” said Abby curtly, trying to make it sound as much like ‘go fuck yourself’ as she could.

“I see.” To her amazement, Kane’s gaze slipped down from her face to where everyone else’s gaze had been so magnetically drawn. It was only for a split-second, and his eyes snapped back up almost immediately, but it had been unmistakable. The line of his jaw tightened. He opened his mouth as if to say something...and then closed it again. Finally:

“I expect you to be on time for the ten thirty meeting. And better prepared for it than you obviously were for the weather.”

And he turned on his heel and walked back into his office.

Abby stared after him for a few seconds, wishing she had the power to set someone on fire with her glare, and then headed to her own office, her cheeks still burning. Unlike Kane’s, the front wall of her office was all plate glass, so it didn’t give her much of a refuge from being seen by anyone passing by, but at least it technically put a door between her and everyone else in the building, who were doubtless discussing her underwear choices right now.

She pulled out her phone and sent a message.

_ -> I think my asshole boss just checked me out. This is humiliating _

The reply came immediately.

_ -> Good. I want other people looking at you. I want them to imagine what they can’t have. I want you to drive them crazy _

_ -> I think you’re overestimating my universal appeal _

_ -> You think every man in your building and half the women aren’t thinking about stripping off that wet blouse of yours and really seeing what’s underneath? You think your boss isn’t in his office fantasizing about that right now? _

Abby felt the heat rise to her face; a combination of embarrassment and pleasure. She thought again of the little flicker of Kane’s eyes, the sudden tension in his posture. It was one of the only times she had ever gotten a reaction out of him for  _ anything.  _ She felt a perverse little thrill of victory. Still...

_ -> I don’t think my boss is exactly the type. He despises me _

_ -> Even better. Powerful men always fantasize about fucking the women they feel threatened by _

_ -> How do you know he feels threatened by me? _

_ -> Why else would he despise you? _

Abby considered this. It was certainly true that she was one of the few people willing to stand up to Marcus Kane, to tell him when his ideas were bullshit, and she couldn’t say that quality had endeared her to him. She supposed it was within the realm of possibility that he felt threatened by her, although there was no world in which she actually had a chance of getting his job – even  _ she _ had to admit that he was good at it, and he certainly put the hours in.

Mostly, though, she was pretty sure she just annoyed him. He thought she was too opinionated, too disrespectful, too rash...too eager to take risks if it meant bigger gains, when all Kane ever wanted to do was play things safe. He took his responsibility to the company and the people under his authority _ very  _ seriously, and had a huge ego to match. The man had probably been born with a stick up his ass, and Abby was unfortunately the type to never be able to take people like that completely seriously. She always wanted to needle, to talk back, to tease. It didn’t make for a very harmonious working relationship.

And, whatever her new friend might think, she doubted any of that would tempt Kane to fantasize about fucking her. Throwing her out of a window when she spoke up in a meeting, maybe. But even that might have been too human an impulse to have occurred to him.

Still. He  _ had _ looked at her, hadn’t he?

Abby’s phone pinged again.

_ -> Make him sweat. He wants you and he can’t do a damn thing about it, and it’s driving him crazy. Believe me. You have power over him, Abby. You can have power over anyone you want _

_ -> Even you? _

_ -> Nice try. That’s lesson one, by the way. Enjoy it _

Abby stared at the screen of her phone. Then she began to laugh. This  _ was  _ fun. Bizarre, embarrassing, exhilarating, terrifying...and  _ fun _ . It was only the first day and she was already wearing nicer clothes than she’d had in years, had run through the rain, smiled more on this gloomy Monday morning than she usually did in a whole week...and she hadn’t been drooled over by so many men since she was a teenager. She remembered the security guard’s stammering, the young intern’s soup-plate round eyes, and had to bite her lip to stop her fit of giggles from overwhelming her.

A sharp knock on her door made her look up as Kane walked in – as he inevitably did immediately after knocking – strode across to her desk and placed something on top of it.

“For the meeting later,” he said tersely. He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes. “Callie left it before she went on maternity leave; I doubt she’d mind you borrowing it.”

Abby picked up his offering and realized it was a light suit jacket – a little too big and the wrong shade to match her skirt, but enough to cover her up and give her some semblance of dignity if she couldn’t figure out a way to dry off before the meeting.

“Oh...thanks,” she said, startled out of any kind of sarcastic response. Was this actually a thoughtful gesture? God, she should get her tits out more often.

“I expect you to be in early tomorrow to make up for the twelve minutes you missed this morning,” said Kane. “And more professionally dressed.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out of her office, leaving Abby glaring after him for the second time that morning. Some things never changed.

What an absolute, unremitting asshole.

* * *

If he had been any kind of decent human being, Marcus would have called the whole thing off.

Holy  _ shit. _ Holy shit. Abby Griffin. It was always the ones you least expected, wasn’t it? And wasn’t he a walking example of that himself? She obviously had no idea that her boss was the same man with whom she had agreed to enter an extremely unusual and intimate relationship – and why should she, when he had spent so many years carefully keeping his work and personal lives rigorously separate?

At work, he knew he had a reputation for being cold, even ruthless. The kindest of his employees would call him ‘firm but fair’. Some just called him ‘that bastard’. He knew exactly which camp Abby Griffin fell into. But he was always strictly professional, even she would have to admit that; he didn’t play favorites, he never lost his temper, he expected the best from the people around him but never gave any less than the best himself too. Maybe he wasn’t much  _ liked _ , but he was respected.

In his personal relationships though...he didn’t  _ have _ to be professional. He didn’t have to be fair. He didn’t have to keep that rigid control of his emotions, because that wasn’t what his partners wanted. They wanted someone to surprise them, to excite them, to push them to their limits and punish them if they failed. And he could be _ human _ while he did it; he could tease, he could joke, he could flirt. He could be tender. And he could turn on a dime and let his ruthless side out as well, and found they liked that too. He snapped his fingers and they obeyed.

Just the idea of snapping his fingers and having Abby Griffin obeying his every erotic whim did unspeakable things to his thought process. The temptation of it – the sheer, aching,  _ delicious _ temptation – was downright irresistible, bulldozing through the better angels of his conscience.

It was lunchtime, the day after it rained, and Marcus hadn’t gotten much work done that morning – unusual for him. His mind had been too busy. Half given over to an endless mental tug-of-war about what to do, and half utterly preoccupied with the image of Abby glaring at him, her sodden shirt clinging to her lovely breasts barely contained by the lingerie he’d bought for her.  _ God _ , she’d looked...

He scrolled through their message history on his phone, and found the words:  _ No, Sir _ . He imagined them now, in Abby’s velvety, unbearably sexy voice. _ No, Sir. _ Abby who argued with him on every point of every project, almost as a matter of principle. Abby, who had photos of her almost-grown-up daughter on her desk, who always took new employees under her protective wing, who was frequently late to work and lived off black coffee, who could have easily been a perfect soccer mom in another life.

_ You don’t know me. _

Marcus groaned, resting his elbows on his desk and rubbing his temples with his hand. She was right – he didn’t know her at all. But god how he wanted to.

He picked up his phone again and sent a quick message. He never gave any warning for these things; either someone was ready, or they were not.

_ -> You’re in your office? _

The reply came immediately.

_ -> Yes _

Marcus had known that, of course, but he was pleased at the speed of response. Abby was ready. Eager. Who was he to deny her? His conscience gave only a slight twinge as he typed the next words:

_ -> Tell me what you’re wearing _

_ -> White blouse. Grey skirt. 1 ½ inch heels _

Marcus grinned, in spite of himself. Tease. She knew full well what he meant.

_ -> And underneath? _

_ -> My regular bra. It’s white with little embroidered flowers on it _

_ -> And? _

_ -> A pair of those cotton shorts you can get. Like boxers for women? They’re black _

And then immediately afterwards, in a tone that came across as slightly defensive even over text:

_ -> They’re comfortable _

Marcus considered this. It had no right to be as sexy as it was. Why the hell was the thought of Abby in plain black cotton shorts somehow even more arousing than the thought of her in lingerie? His cock was already stirring just at the mental image. Still, he had no intention of revealing that to her. It was only a one word reply he sent:

_ -> Cute _

It was the right word; the perfect combination of sincere and slightly patronizing. Abby was a petite, pretty woman, and must have spent her whole life being annoyed at men calling her ‘cute’. It was the right button to press, Marcus knew, to get her just a little riled up, to make her feel as though she had something to prove. He waited for it to sink in and then sent his next message:

_ -> I find myself in need of entertainment, and I want to test you a little more. So I want you to make yourself come at your desk. Can you do that for me, with just your hands? _

It was a lot to ask of someone who was new to this. Marcus hadn't yet got a read on what excited her and what would simply make her uncomfortable. He half expected an  _ ‘I don’t know’ _ or  _ ‘I’d rather not’ _ or even  _ ‘My office is plate glass and it’s going to be really difficult to do that without anyone seeing me as they pass’. _ Instead, the reply that came after only a few seconds of hesitation was:

_ -> Yes, Sir _


	2. Chapter 2

She was deathly afraid the trashing of her heart in her throat could be heard through the walls. She stared at her reply, her phone clutched tight in her clammy fingers.

This was who she was now, apparently. Willing to masturbate at her workplace at the command of a stranger.

The idea was terrifying and unbearably tempting all the same. In the safety of her bedroom, she would probably have no hesitations. But doing it here, in her office, sitting on her finely-upholstered office chair in the vicinity of approximately 106 employees at this floor was something so formidable it made her head dizzy and knees weak. The thrill of the enormous risk shot through her like a flaming arrow.

But was she really going to do this?

There was no way for him to verify if she actually did it. She had readily agreed not to use her umbrella earlier, but this was a whole new ball game. She could face serious ramifications if somebody caught her, including immediate termination, life-long mortification and most upsettingly, granting the Kane the pleasure of firing her. She didn't even want to imagine what he would think of her.

She worried her lip. Every second there seemed to be just more and more people passing by her office. She would be a lunatic for even trying.

Then again, she'd been eager to comply. She hadn't thought, just acted as if it was a perfectly reasonable request. Answer that urgent email. Clean up the clutter from your desk. Don't forget to finish the monthly report for your boss by Tuesday.

_ Make yourself come. _

The truth was that she needed this. Part of the reason why she'd entered this arrangement in the first place, the reason she could barely even admit to herself, was the embarrassing fact that she  _ couldn't _ make herself come.

She hadn't been able to do it in so long it was starting to wear on her. Ever since the few bad dating experiences after her husband's passing, she just couldn't bring herself to the edge even by her own hand. 

But now, hearing the husky voice of the mysterious man in her ear, telling her to do something unspeakable to herself where anyone could walk in...

She was already wet even thinking about it.

Abby sacrificed a few more seconds for the vestiges of her sanity and mulled it over. 

Finally, she turned down the picture of her daughter on her desk and hitched up her skirt.

First, she rested her hand on her thigh innocently, fingertips skirting at the overturned hem of the fabric. No one walking by would be any wiser. They would just see a woman immersed in her work, staring intently at the screen of her computer, all the while her fingers crept up her own leg and crawled under her skirt.

She surveyed her surroundings one last time, discreetly, impatiently, before finally parting her thighs and slipping one finger past the elastic of her panties. The first brush of her finger against her drenched, sensitive clit made her gasp out loud.

She closed her eyes. She didn't dare to look around her and see if anyone had heard the sound she'd made at the shock of the contact. The walls of her office weren't exactly soundproof. Still, she continued touching herself. She draped her thumb over her labia, sweetly and slowly like she was doing it the very first time. Even now, the sheer illicit sensation made her insides quiver. She had to bite her tongue to keep the budding sounds of pleasure inside.

It was probably better if she pretended to be working at the same time, she decided. Her eyes fluttered halfway open. She stared at her monitor, not quite seeing anything but blurry circles on her screen as teased her finger in and out. Heat blossomed inside her. This was definitely long overdue. She would need to finish even if the fire alarm started blaring. Hell, she would pull the switch herself if it got her time to reach an orgasm.

She started stimulating her clit with featherlight, careful strokes like the fragile thing it was after months of neglect. She released the faintest of whimpers. Thank god there was no one in the corridor. 

She let her mind drift off to the man behind the messages. She imagined a dark figure watching her in the doorway in silent approval, maybe even smiling, his knuckles white around the door frame.

_ Good girl. _

She thrust two fingers inside while still managing to look convincingly committed to answering an email. She parted her lips, exhaling softly.

Nothing  _ cute  _ about me now, was there?

* * *

He was going to hell for this.

Abby, too-stubborn-for-her-own-good, permanently-stuck-up-on-her-high-horse-Griffin probably had her impeccably manicured fingers slipped inside her cute little boxer shorts right at this moment. 

It was  _ definitely _ the ones you least expected. He had trouble even getting her to come to work on time and showing her superior the barest amount of respect, yet there she was, pleasuring herself at the filthy command of a complete stranger. It was completely unprofessional and frankly, disrespectful to her position and the entire company.

He'd never been harder in his life.

Had she always been like this, turned on by powerful men telling her what to do? Or was this some hidden dark part of her he'd deliciously helped to peel wide open?

He thought about her usual angry brown eyes now fluttered shut, her features slack with unadulterated arousal. Maybe her lips were parted and she was breathing out soft whines, overcome with the maddening thrill of making herself come while knowing  _ anyone  _ could be watching her.

Maybe even her boss.

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Cold sweat was beading at the back of his neck at the idea, and he could do little but let it roll down his skin.

He wanted, no,  _ needed  _ to go and check.

It was in his right to do unannounced checkups on his employees. Make sure they weren't doing anything inappropriate during work hours – which she definitely was, if she was following his orders like his obedient little lamb.

He sent out a quick inquiry.

_ -> Are you touching yourself right now? _

_ -> Yes _

Heat pulsed throughout his body at that single word.

He knew she could be lying. He'd had women lie to him before about following through with his orders, and he usually could sense if they'd gotten cold feet and were trying to hide it from him. For them, he wished all the best but ceased all contact. If they didn't feel comfortable enough to tell him no, they'd be better off with someone else.

But he had a feeling Abby wasn't going to turn down any command.

An electric current rushed through his veins. There were so many depraved things he could ask her to do, and she wouldn't even hesitate. He could bend her to his will, curl her around his pinkie finger, make her his personal plaything and she would only beg for more.

The devil had to be already warming up a spot for him. The only way he could save his soul at this point was deleting her contact information immediately and suffering in silence at his desk until he knew she'd be safely back to work again. He could never lay his eyes on her again without a motive as pure as snow.

After a moment of penance, he rose from his desk.

He was a bad, bad man when it came to Abby Griffin.

* * *

He rapped his knuckles against her door lightly and calmly, despite the storm raging inside him.

"Come in."

Her voice sounded suspiciously tranquil. It unnerved him. The next second he was inside, leaning against her doorway, assuming an indifferent air despite the tension in every muscle of his body.

Abby was at her desk, the very picture of productivity. There was not one wrinkle in her work attire, no strand out of place from her utilitarian ponytail. She was calmly typing something out, only the steady thrum of the keystrokes audible in the plate glass office. Marcus could almost hear the erratic beat of his heart echoing in the quiet room.

"Did you want something, Kane?" she asked calmly, not even looking up from the monitor.

The only telltale sign of what filthy things she'd just done to herself was the faint, almost invisible blush mantling her cheeks.

Arousal  _ lurched  _ inside him at the sight.

Marcus bit his cheek in order to stop himself from sharply exhaling at the thought of her skirt hitched up behind that maddeningly opaque desk. Had she had enough time to finish? Or was she still wet and dizzy with desire?

Abby's eyes darted up in irritation.

"So?"

Based on their professional relationship this far, Marcus couldn't judge whether the dark look in her eyes was lingering arousal or just plain irritation at his presence. His educated guess would be the latter.

The thought set him back on track. She still very much despised him, and for one strange moment, it actually bothered him. Right now he wanted this woman with every fiber of his being, and the fact that he saw only animosity in her eyes in return was starting to dampen his buzz.

"I wanted to remind you of that monthly report that has to be on my desk next Tuesday. I hope you have already started contacting all the departments."

"With all due respect Kane, you should know by now that these occasional 'pep talks' do little but hinder my productivity," she said, an affected note of politeness in her voice. "If that is all..."

"I have the right to evaluate your performance at any given moment, Abby."

"Go find someone your own size to bully."

Marcus clenched his jaw. Abby spared him one last frosty look and turned back to her work. She certainly had no qualms standing up to him, even at the threat of getting written up.  _ Again _ .

He didn't know what he'd expected. She thought he was a bastard, there was nothing novel about that. Perhaps that was what he fundamentally was.

His eyes drifted down to the hand she was resting on her desk. There was a fine, wet sheen covering the tips of her fingers.

Roaring fire rushed down to his crotch at the sight.

He almost couldn't believe what he was seeing. The proof of her wickedness was impossible, maddening,  _ exactly  _ what he'd imagined in his mind. If he wasn't agonizingly hard before, he certainly was now. 

He was feverish with desire, and he didn't know what to do with himself. He almost gave it away then and there. It took all of his strength and the very vestiges of his willpower not to kneel at her desk, cradle her fingers like a knight his queen's hand and envelope each one of those glistening digits with his lips.

He came back to his senses with a shuddering exhale.

He might have severely underestimated the amount of power Abby Griffin had over him.

* * *

Kane excused himself with alarming swiftness. Abby would've worried about his eagerness to rush out of her office, perhaps to report what he'd seen right through her, if she was still not overcome by the mortification of seeing  _ him  _ walk through her door. She had just time to slip out her hand from under her skirt before he'd entered.

There was something bone-rattling in having Marcus Kane of all people walk in while she had her fingers deep inside her, seconds away from granting her a blinding release. She hadn't been closer in months, and she had  _ never  _ hated him more than now.

She was still shivery, wet, and eager to coax a climax out of herself, but she wasn't about to do that minutes after her boss' surly appraisal. It would be wrong on so many twisted levels not even the most skilled of psychiatrists would be able to count them. She might as well fashion a hangman's noose out of her work-mandatory pantyhose for herself right now. 

She decided to be honest and tell her mysterious benefactor the hitch in the plan. 

_ -> I couldn't finish. My boss walked in and ruined it _

It could've been just a weak excuse to back out of the task, but she felt like he would understand. He was probably wealthy enough not to have to work under anyone, but in his past, he must have had a boss whom he, under no circumstances, wanted to have on top of his mind while stroking himself. 

The reply followed shortly.

_ -> We'll figure out a way to make him pay for that. Won't we, Abby? _

* * *

She would be lying if she claimed she wasn't wholly enjoying her time as a plaything of an enigmatic stranger. She hadn't felt this powerful and desirable in her life, and it was all thanks to the secret little messages she received throughout the day with an ever-growing frequency.

Her mystery man seemed quite taken with her. He tried to conceal it, keep himself firmly in the driver's seat, but she could sense that she had taken his priority in a way no other man or woman hadn't. It was hard for him to keep up his cool, disinterested air if he devoted so much time talking to her, squandered more and more money for her lingerie and other pretty little things and urged her to talk to him about her deepest, darkest fantasies up until the early hours of the morning.

They were at the point of their relationship where they knew exactly what the other liked. Abby knew he liked lightning-fast responses, full obedience even to the most absurd of requests and extremely detailed descriptions of her underwear and the many ways she liked to touch herself. And he knew perfectly how much it turned her on to perform riskier and riskier tasks at her workplace. It was as if he was fine-tuned to her brain. The moment she grew bored of taking dirty pictures and describing her futile attempts to make herself come at the privacy of her home, he  _ knew  _ and instantly began to tempt her with mouthwatering ideas of how she could further beguile her colleagues.

She didn't have the faintest clue why it was just the office that electrified her in this way, but she'd never felt more alive than while walking through the corridors wearing highly impractical stiletto heels and lingerie made of less material than your standard-sized napkin. Perhaps it was her confident gait or the seductive smile playing at her lips, but she was turning more heads than in her early twenties. Man or woman, everyone at her floor had, at least for a brief second, undressed her with their eyes. 

Everyone except Kane.

There was a strange correlation at play. The more empowered and confident she felt, the more disheveled her boss turned. He had not dignified her with one look in weeks, and every time she caught a glimpse of him, he appeared tauter than a bowstring. It was as if only a thin, tightly drawn thread was holding him together. One day she'd even spotted him with an unshaven face. Abby couldn't have been more shocked if he'd showed up at work wearing nothing but a burlap sack.

At the end of the day, after she'd had the time of her life following the specific and delicious orders of her instructor, Kane always ended up looking  _ shattered _ , no matter how fresh he'd appeared at 9 o'clock. 

If she happened to catch an elevator with him, he stood as far away from her as possible, shoulders squared, his jaw harshly set as if she was personally offending him with her presence. If he was less of an asshole, she probably would be worried about him. But considering the stuff he generally occupied himself with, the thing making him so tense was probably the fact that he hadn't been able to lay off anyone in an uncomfortably long time... or his motorized tie rack had broken. Either or, Abby couldn't care less. 

A new command came a little after she'd escaped another elevator ride with him.

_ -> Don't wear any underwear for work tomorrow _

Her heart leaped in her throat. 

This was the biggest step in a while. After he'd told her to make herself come in her office, he hadn't tried his luck with anything more risque than making her wear various pieces of lingerie, take pictures and do questionable things in her office, such as unbutton her blouse halfway and reply to important emails in just a black eyelash lace bra more expensive than her MacBook.

Her answer  _ Yes, Sir _ came in less than a second. 

* * *

Before leaving from home the next day she'd thought she would be too embarrassed to even breathe in the direction of her coworkers, but she was interestingly proven wrong. Her nipples were pebbled and sensitive to the cool silk of her blouse, deftly hidden by the manilla folder she was clutching against her chest. The wicked bareness beneath her skirt made her pulse flutter and her breath catch in her throat. She felt devastatingly sexy. If she were wearing her usual cotton shorts, she knew they'd be soaked through.

Maybe she let her hips sway a little as she walked down the corridors. Maybe she smiled flirtatiously at the warehouse men instead of rushing past them with her head bowed like usually. Maybe she winked at her reflection on her computer screen as she settled into her chair. Even if she did all of those things, there was no one in the world who could make her feel bad about it.

The only thing spoiling her spirits was the utter disappearance of her boss. She felt an almost perverse sting of disappointment that he was not present to spare even a single glance at her. She was almost ashamed to admit it, but ever since she'd caught his eyes on her cleavage through her sodden blouse, she'd been chasing the powerful rush she'd felt then.

Just one more look at her, something to prove he was only a man contrary to all other evidence, and she would be satisfied for life. The feeling was extremely conflicting because even the thought of him leering at her also made her want to gouge his eyes out and whistle all the way to HR to report him. 

Alas, Kane made no appearance and when she walked by his office, it was empty. He never took a sick day so she could only assume he was on a business trip. Or maybe dead. 

She received a new message later in her office.

_ -> What are you wearing?  _

Abby grinned cheekily.

_ -> Under my clothing you mean? _

_ -> You know very well what I mean _

_ -> Nothing _

His reply came five irritating minutes later.

_ -> Good _

Nothing else followed in several hours. It puzzled Abby. He had her naked under her clothes like a gift-wrapped little treat and he wasn't going to say anything more?

But this was what he did, she realized. He called the shots up until he'd roused her to an ache that could only be extinguished by his heady whispers in her head, telling her exactly what to do, and he knew how  _ maddening  _ it was for her to be left hanging. Ergo, the disappearing act. It boiled her blood.

Maybe it was the time to take the initiative for once. She knew what he wanted. If he wasn't going to ask for it and continued to keep her dangling like some insecure girl who didn't know what she was worth, he'd be sorely mistaken. She was not afraid to offer  _ all  _ of her willingly. 

Biting down her lip, she slowly, savoringly unbuttoned her blouse.

The picture was taken discreetly enough not to be noticed by any outsiders. In it, she was cradling her breasts, one dusky nipple just barely, tantalizingly visible from beneath the white silk of her shirt. She didn't show her face, but her lips were in the frame, enticingly parted. 

Her fingertips tingled as she looked at the final product. It was the boldest photo she'd ever taken of herself, but it didn't make her feel dirty. On the contrary, she didn't remember the last time she'd presented herself this sensually and felt so overwhelmingly good about herself. 

She sent the picture.

* * *

He never replied.

It had been three weeks since he'd last contacted her. He hadn't sent her a single word ever since the picture. Abby didn't know if she'd violated some sacred, unspoken role of these sort of arrangements by taking the initiative or if he'd simply grown tired of her as soon as he'd gotten to the main course. Either way, she was hurt and disappointed. She liked to think her breasts weren't so hideous as to scare off anyone, nor that she was this easily disposable.

In all likelihood, a man like him had dozens of women in a waiting line and she wouldn't be missed. But hell, at least it had been fun as long as it had lasted. She was also grateful for having something to lean back on whenever she felt insecure about her body. It was impossible not to feel desirable with all the new lingerie in her closet. 

She briefly considered going back to regular white bras and comfortable boxer shorts, but then again, the addictive feel of the fine dark mesh of her stockings against her legs and the lace of her underwear wasn't something she was willing to give up at least for now.

So she rolled on her stockings, strapped garters to her black lace bustier and picked out her sheerest pair of thongs. The boost of confidence was instant and lasting.

Curiously, Kane hadn't shown up at work in weeks. Her theory of him being dead in a ditch didn't seem so laughable now. He  _ never  _ missed work. She wasn't sure if he was even physically capable of such a feat. Crunching numbers sustained him probably the same way food did others.  _ No wonder he never took lunch off. _

After the twentieth day of not seeing him in his office, Abby was about to express uncharacteristic concern and go ask HR about him when she, coincidentally, bumped into him on her way there. He was sporting a three-week-old scruff and seemed to have misplaced his can of hair gel, but other than that, he looked no less disciplinarian than his usual sour self. 

She hated herself for having to admit the stubble actually suited him. It was such a shame his looks didn't match his personality. A far better man should have deserved his lean physique and the toned arms the fit of his suit failed miserably to conceal. He had a chiseled jaw, sensual lips, a pair of chocolate brown eyes and dark hair that cascaded in soft tousled waves now that they weren't slicked back as usual, with one perfect curl falling to his forehead. It all somehow made her resent him even more. The only things marring his handsome face were the deep lines above his brow and at the corners of his mouth, marking decades of joylessness.

The thin, harsh line he drew his mouth into at the sight of her made her regret ever feeling an ounce of compassion for him. The feeling was clearly not mutual. She turned on her heels and started marching back to where she'd come from.

Because the universe hated her, they ended up awkwardly walking into the same direction and had to use the same elevator to get to their floor.

The silence inside was so suffocating her hatred for him was briefly blinded by her desire to  _ somehow  _ dissolve the strange tension in the room. Kane was radiating energy that could only be interpreted as murderous, and she didn't know what to think of it.

"Did you have a nice vacation?"

Kane turned his head and looked at her as if surprised to notice that someone else was in the elevator with him. He eyed her like she was only the emergency manual on the wall and then resumed staring coolly in front of him.

The elevator doors opened at their floor after an eternity. Abby let Kane step out first.

"Bastard," she muttered as he went, not particularly caring whether he could hear her or not.

As it turned out, he'd heard her. 

If swatting a hornet's nest was an art form, Abby's verbal choreography had to be unparalleled since she was now staring into the dark, furious eyes of her boss. He'd stepped back into the elevator and slammed the button that closed the doors, effectively trapping her inside with him. He moved slowly and menacingly toward her. She hated herself from giving, letting herself be backed against the wall, but there was something in his expression that made her feet move of their own accord. He slammed his hands on the wall on each side of her, looming over her like a thunderhead. Her knees almost buckled. At that moment, Abby realized that provoking a man who could probably bench press women twice her size was probably not the best of ideas. 

She didn't know if it was the empowered feel the last few months had given her or the influence of the particularly brazen set of lingerie she was wearing today, but she quickly decided to stare back at him unflinchingly, her head held up proud and high.

"Your utter lack of respect for my authority continues to  _ astonish  _ me. If you were any other woman I would have already sent you on your way with a pitiable severance for such an unabashed transgression, but something in your behavior makes me suspect this goes deeper than you simply not being able to control your tongue. Do tell me, what are you trying to achieve with this open defiance? I want to know  _ why _ , Abby.  _ Why  _ do you do the things you do?"

Abby remained tight-lipped. She wished she knew the reason for her actions too. There was an abundance of executives she couldn't get along with, but she'd never thought about defying them in the same ways she did Kane. It was as if she got some sort of sick pleasure from riling up just him. 

She'd rather die than admit it to him. She swallowed, hard.

As she remained silent, he stared at her, his jaw clenched, his breathing hard and rough. He looked at her through the black eyes of a predator who had been starving for weeks, seconds away from putting his hands on her. Abby released a shaky breath. Getting strangled by her boss in a public elevator had to be among the top five ways she least wanted to go. 

"This is the first and final warning," he hissed. "From now on, you're going to show me some respect. One more unprofessional address, one more nasty look shot in my direction and you will be out of your job."

He was so close she could smell his cologne. It was disturbing. Her head felt dizzy.

"I will be a model employee," was her dry reply. 

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"You will do exactly as I say," he breathed out, hoarse like a man who had just run a marathon. 

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"Yes,  _ Sir _ ," she spat out.

His eyes brightened. It was as if he had gained total victory over her just from hearing that simple word, her reluctant little admission of his authority. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"Good," he rasped out.

He took a step back, releasing her from the cage of his arms. He smashed the button of the elevator and the doors slid open again. Without looking at her, he stalked off – back to work, back to efficiently earn back the seconds he'd spent disciplining her. 

She was still trembling long after he'd left the elevator. She could hardly force oxygen down her lungs. It felt ridiculous now after the fact to feel he'd wanted to murder her, but the way he'd looked at her had been so wild and dark that it still made her heart pound against her ribs.

God, how was she supposed to get any work done after this?

What made her eventually came back to her Earth was the insistent buzzing off her phone in her purse. She dug it up with shaky fingers and unlocked the screen.

_ -> Go to your office _

She squinted at the message. It didn't dawn on her that it was from  _ him  _ before the second one came.

_ -> Now _

And  _ now  _ this man decided to come back into her life.

Her reply was deeply sardonic. 

_ -> I'm sorry, who is this?  _

_ -> Don't get cute with me now. I need you to do something for me _

_ -> Which is what? _

_ -> Wrong answer _

As much as she loathed to admit it, she was a little excited to have him back. It was actually the perfect timing. Leaning against the wall of the elevator, she felt dizzy and shivery and all too eager to submit again.

_ -> Yes, Sir _

_ -> Good girl. Go to your office _

She obeyed. She skittered hurriedly down the corridor in her heels until she reached her office and slammed the door shut after her.

_ Now what? _ she asked, the sparks of anticipation dancing on her skin. 

_ -> Tell me how you are feeling right now _

_ -> Excited  _

_ -> What else?  _

Abby considered for a moment before deciding to be honest. That was the basis of their relationship, after all. 

_ -> Little agitated _

_ -> Why?  _

_ -> My boss was giving me a hard time just a moment earlier _

_ -> Did he now _

_ -> I'm starting to think this man is a threat. His desire for you is getting the best of him _

Abby frowned.

_ -> As I've told you, he doesn't want me. He hates me _

_ -> Abby, you have no idea what women like you do to men like him _

_ -> I know him _

_ -> Do you want to know what truly infuriates him about you? It is not because he feels threatened. He wished it was all it was _

_ -> He is hard from the moment you walk through the doors. Every second of the day he wants you, but he can't do anything about it. Every single move you make, every wry smile and lilting word that leaves your lips sets his blood on fire. He needs to fuck you so badly he can't breathe, yet he holds himself back. He locks himself in his office or gets out of town just to keep himself away from you. He knows he can't touch you. He knows he can never have you _

_ -> Because you're mine _

He gave her a few minutes to let the words sink in, before asking the most dangerous question yet. It made Abby's eyes widen the moment she saw it.

_ -> Are you turned on? _

_ She was. _ Her skin was on fire, her heart pounding wildly in her ears.

_ Yes _ , she typed, hating herself.

_ -> Do you want to touch yourself? _

_ -> Yes _

_ -> You know what to say _

She didn't know what was happening to her. All of this was rushing toward a frightening, stomach-turning territory. Yet, she wanted it. She wanted it so bad it hurt. 

_ -> May I touch myself, Sir? _

_ -> Yes, you may. But on one condition _

Abby waited for the next message with a tantalizing mixture of fear and excitement climbing up her in hot waves.

_ -> Turn the speaker on _

_ -> I want to hear you make some noise _

She stares at her phone like it was an eighteen-wheeler and she was the deer at its headlights.

She never thought he'd ask something like this. He'd never wanted any proof whenever he ordered her to touch herself. She'd thought it wasn't necessary because he knew she would obey his every command without question. 

Maybe this was the ultimate test. Even if she'd been lying to him this far, and he'd given her every opportunity to do so, there was no way she could fool him now. This what he'd been preparing her all along – this was how she showed her true commitment.

_ People could hear m _ e, she typed. The pathetic little message looked so frivolous to her just after she had sent it that she cringed.

_ Then you'll just have to be quiet _ , came the reply.

_ -> My boss could hear me. _

_ -> Let him _

_ Oh god.  _

She felt her juices pool in her sheer panties. She couldn't believe how wet she was and tried her hardest not to attribute Marcus fucking Kane to it in any way. 

_ -> I gave you an order. Turn the speaker on _

Her right to veto was hovering in the back of her mind. A simple refusal could be typed and sent in less than two seconds. She'd never have to hear from him again. But at this moment, she felt herself pushing that option away, somewhere so far back it felt like it didn't exist in the first place. There was no room for anything but full obedience.

_ Yes, Sir, _ she sent him.

She set her phone carefully on her desk and with a quivering finger, turned the speaker on. The line came alive with a crackle and then he was there, on the other end, listening. The quiet sound of his breathing sent flames rocketing through her body.

She was ready. She slipped her hand inside the waistline of her skirt and pushed the scrap of lace that was her panties aside, dragging an experimental finger over her lips. She was wet enough to soak through the upholstery of her office chair. She pressed on her clit, relishing in the delicious sensations this forbidden fantasy was treating her. A breathy moan escaped her.

Abby heard a noise from the other end of the line. It sounded like a sharp exhale. It turned her on more than anything he could have said. The fact that she was affecting him so strongly pierced her with shivers, turning her skin into goose flesh.

She almost voiced her thoughts out loud but stopped herself at the last minute. She needed to be quiet and keep this a secret little show it was meant to be. She started stimulating her most sensitive bundle of nerve endings with a slow, circulating movement that never quite hit the spot she needed it most at, soft little moans involuntarily dripping from her throat. She didn't need to perform, the situation alone aroused her to the point where she could no longer hold back her sounds of pleasure. 

She teased her labia with long, rough and torturous strokes that translated into low, almost inaudible whines. She finally slipped a finger past her folds, curling it inside her just the way she liked and managed to keep a sob lodged in her throat, but her back arched in a manner she couldn't explain away to anyone that happened to walk past and see her. After a while, she found herself indifferent to any about potential spectators. It was hard to think of anything at all as molten pleasure flowed lower and lower, making her eyes water.

She could hear his heavy breathing. She imagined him stroking himself to the same rhythm she was rubbing her clit and came almost from that thought alone. She tried to picture him again as she fucked her fingers. She saw him with his cock in his broad palm, lazily massaging his thick and long length. He smeared his precum over his cockhead, slicking himself up as if in preparation.

Suddenly that dark, faceless man was there in the room with her, grabbing her from behind. His hold was strong and rough around her waist, impossible to escape. He pushed her against the grey, reflective wall– 

They were in the elevator now.

She violently protested the mental image, forcing her mind to return to her office. 

Someone was holding her hips, pinning her against a mahogany desk–

No, they were not in her office. She didn't have a mahogany desk. They were somewhere else, a room she recognized frighteningly too well. 

"You really thought you could get away with it, didn't you?" rasped a familiar baritone voice in her ear. "Sneaking around without underwear right under my nose. Pleasuring yourself as if I couldn't hear you."

_ No. No. No. No. _

"Did you really think I didn't know who it all was for?"

She was so close she could already see the white bliss of the precipice ahead, blurring the edges of her vision. But she couldn't come thinking about Marcus Kane. She wouldn't come thinking about Marcus Kane.

_ She wouldn't _

_ She wouldn't. _

The mantra had little effect on her thumb that only kept tightening the torturous circles around her swollen clit, or on her fingers, thrusting in and out, faster and faster. It as if some violent force had taken over her, controlling her every motion, refusing to release her before she had reached a shattering climax.

The fantasy Kane had his hands on her waist, his lips on her ear. 

"Be a good girl and bend over for me."

Completely helpless against her own subconscious, she obediently bent over his desk.

"Look at you. Finally learning to listen to orders."

He grabbed the hem of her skirt and violently ripped it up. He dragged the fabric over her ass, exposing it to him. He lets out an approving growl as he slid his palms over her bare buttocks, sliding his thumbs along the black straps of her lingerie.

"My, my, Abby Griffin. You truly are filthy."

His next order was made in a lazy, almost bored voice. "Part you legs now."

After she'd eagerly complied, he ran a finger across her soaked panties, savoring the wetness he found there. Abby keened at the torturous pressure of his forefinger.

"All for me? Darling, you only needed to ask."

For a few torturous seconds, she listened to the sounds of him unbuckling his belt. Her entire body was a red-hot ember, ready to burst into flames at the lightest of touches by his rough hands.

He yanked her thong out of the way, and then something heavy, hot and impossibly thick was nudging at her folds. She let out a stunned gasp, clutching at the smooth, unforgiving surface of his desk. He was big, she knew he would be, but it was still  _ too _ much.

He held himself still, not moving his cock one inch no matter how she sobbed and bucked against him.

"Beg."

That was the last thing she heard in her mind before coming so hard on her fingers her vision blacked out. 

An explosion of starlight was the only thing she could see for a moment. She melted against her chair like a deflated balloon, every limb of her body slack and spent. 

As her need for oxygen surfaced, she found her mouth already opened, undoubtedly having just produced a sound so loud she should already start packing her belongings. There was no chance in hell anyone didn't hear her. Kane would have a field day with this.

It was bad enough she'd made herself come harder than ever in her life in her office and probably ruined the cushion of her chair, she also did it while imagining  _ him  _ fucking her over his desk. 

She was going to have to pay a pretty penny over the therapy bill this was going to cause.

She suddenly remembered the reason she made this endeavour to begin with it. She snatched her phone only to discover that the call had ended. She supposed he'd got what he wanted. 

No one had stormed into her office yet which gave rise to a faint hope everyone was oblivious to what had just happened on the other side of the wall. Just in case someone decided to step in, Abby opened the front camera of her phone and studied her appearance. Her neck was flushed but, thankfully, her clothes were only moderately disheveled. She definitely needed to do something about her mussed hair though. She had the look a well-fucked woman which is exactly what she didn't want to portray to her potentially-still-colleagues.

Tucking her skirt back down exposed the problem of her wet and sticky thighs. Without a doubt there was going to be a dark patch underneath her she wouldn't know how to explain to the cleaning lady. Just as she pondered over the potential soaking properties of a crumpled kleenex from her purse, she received a new message. 

_ -> You were breathtaking _

A pleased, hot blush spread over her cheeks. 

_ -> Did I turn you on? _

_ -> I ask the questions. I want to know what made you come so hard. Who did you think about? _

The answer to that question made her die a little inside. She couldn't possibly tell him, or anyone,  _ ever _ . Even voicing it inside her own head curdled the remnants of her breakfast in her stomach. 

She gave him the half-truth instead. After all, her fantasy began with her anonymous benefactor.

- _ > You _

_ -> Took too long to answer. I don't believe you, but I will let it slide this one time because you have pleased me a great deal today _

_ -> It pleases me to hear that, Sir _

_ -> If you want to continue pleasing me, you need to listen to my following words very carefully _

_ -> Yes, Sir _

_ -> I want you to take off your panties _

Abby stared at the screen.

_ My panties? _

At the moment, they are the only thing keeping most of her wetness from dripping down her leg and making a mess. 

Maybe he knew that and it was exactly why he wanted her to remove them.

God help me. Abby hitched up her skirt and hooked two of her fingers through the waistband of her thong. If she had already masturbated twice in her office, she might as well go commando again. 

She slid her panties down slowly, guiltily enjoying the feel of the lace tickling her skin, reminding her of yet another scandalous act she'd performed at her workplace. If he'd ask her now to go downstairs and eat lunch with nothing under her skirt but her slick thighs, she would probably do it.

_ -> They're off _

_ -> Take a picture and I'll believe you _

Abby stood up, not wanting to ruin the chair more than she already had. She laid her black panties prettily on her desk and snapped a photo.

_ -> Perfect _

_ -> From now on, you are not allowed to ever wear panties to work again _

_ -> Not the lacy little things I have bought you, not your cute shorts _

_ -> Nothing _

Every line she read thrilled her more than the last. Her work days just got a hell of a lot more interesting. 

Soon she felt a guilty twinge at her own lack of shame. However, she was already so far past the line of appropriate workplace behavior she might as well go all in, or so she justified it to herself. There was no use in starting to feel embarrassed now. 

_ -> Understood? _

_ -> Perfectly, Sir.  _

Her stomach flipped like a pancake as she typed her next message.

_ -> What do you want me to do now? _

He took a few agonizing minutes to answer during which Abby stared at her panties, her skin tingling with sudden bashfulness. They were evidence of something she didn't want to admit aloud. 

Finally, the messages appeared one by one.

_ -> I want you to find an envelope. A4 sized _

_ -> You are going to fold your drenched little panties prettily inside.  _

_ -> Next, I need you to think of a pretext to go into your boss' office. If you have some paperwork to return, perfect _

Abby didn't like where this was going. She didn't like it at all.

_ -> No. I can't _

_ -> You cannot lie to me, Abby _

_ -> You are going to hand your bastard of a boss the panties you soaked through while thinking of him _


	3. Chapter 3

Marcus stared at the screen of his phone. It’d been ten minutes since he sent his last message. It felt like ten hours.

Had he gone too far? Worse, had he tipped his hand? Did she _ know? _

Did he  _ want _ her to?

The truth was that he hadn’t been able to help himself. After weeks of no contact at all, he felt like a man crossing a desert faced with a sudden sumptuous oasis. Or to put it another way; he had been so fucking turned on by arguing with Abby that the sudden realization that it turned  _ her _ on just as much was more than he could stand. But he knew her well enough now that he could see it in her eyes even as she glared up at him from the cage of his arms; deep down she  _ liked _ the submission, liked to feel powerless, overwhelmed.

He had barely made it back to his office, locking the door hastily behind him, before he was sinking into his chair and unbuckling his belt, his blood pounding in his ears, messaging Abby again without a single thought for all the firm resolutions of the past few weeks he was breaking at the slightest temptation.

And she’d done just as he asked. Just as he knew she would.

He’d come embarrassingly quickly, even before she did, release rocketing through his body as the sounds of Abby’s pleasure fell on his ears like the sweetest music. But he had been careful to record it on his phone, knowing even as he did that he would end up listening to it again and again. Listen to it until he knew by heart every breathy sigh, every stifled whimper, every soft sound as her bare skin squirmed against her office chair and her deft little fingers stroked at her wet, quivering cunt.

She had been thinking about him. He was sure of it. How could she  _ not  _ be, after the confrontation they’d had in the elevator? How could she not be, after he had made the agonizing choice to put a stop to this increasingly dangerous game, to quit her cold turkey, and then spent a miserable three weeks wanting nothing more than to see her again, speak to her again?

Everything about their situation was driving him mad. It was more than he’d ever dreamed, but still somehow not nearly enough. But what could he possibly say?  _ This time I’d like you to touch yourself and moan the name of your boss as you come. You know, that guy you can’t stand? No particular reason. _

The last couple of months had been a revelation, in more ways than one. He genuinely hadn’t realized how much Abby Griffin  _ hated  _ him. And his ties, apparently. He couldn’t do much about her thinking he was ‘an arrogant, self righteous dick’ but he could at least do something about his apparent lack of fashion sense. When he had made a long-overdue visit to his mom in his time off he had tentatively raised the subject of ties on the basis that she was the only woman he knew who he could trust not to make fun of him, and was more than a little surprised when she actually raised her hands to heaven and cried: ‘Thank God!’

It was an overreaction, but the ones she picked out for him were apparently an improvement. One of the women in Accounting had even given him a compliment on one of them. Abby hadn’t, of course, but then he hadn’t expected anything different. She’d barely even seemed to have noticed that he was away from work for so long, aside from making that snide remark about his ‘vacation’.

God, if only she knew.

He was in so fucking deep with this one, and he was no longer sure he could dig his way back out again. He didn’t even know if he  _ wanted _ to anymore. It had never been like this before.  _ Never.  _ Part of the pleasure of this whole game had always been the anonymity of both parties, the sense of it all being detached from his real life, his other self almost like a character he played. The women too had always felt not quite real to him, willing participants in his fantasies but always out of sight, like dolls he could pose as he liked until he bored of them and threw them away. Or they threw _ him _ away. That was always part of the game too; not knowing when it would end, but accepting that it could be at any time.

He didn’t want Abby to throw him away. He wanted to do... oh  _ so _ many things with Abby, so many filthy,  _ unspeakable  _ things, but most of all he wanted her to  _ stay. _ Because she wasn’t just some faceless plaything, some willing slave, she was  _ Abby _ . The same Abby who rolled her eyes when he was speaking in meetings, and was rumored to do over-the-top impressions of him at the staff get-togethers he never went to because he felt it would be inappropriate. The same Abby who sneered at his pin-neat office and wasn’t above going over his head when she had an idea that was better than his – which did, admittedly, sometimes happen – instead of just bringing it to him. The same Abby who never gave him an ounce of respect, but who seemed to be able to effortlessly charm everyone around her every bit as much as she irritated the hell out of him.

The same Abby who had sent him a photo of her gorgeous, bare breasts, revealed by the crisp parted silk of her shirt, the image he couldn’t shake from his mind for days.

The same Abby who had glared at him defiantly in the elevator, pinned between his arms, her pulse throbbing in the pale column of her throat, her nipples pressing through the thin material of her shirt. The look in her dark, fiery eyes that had seemed to his lust-crazed mind to be as much ‘ _ fuck me’ _ as ‘ _ fuck you’. _

Marcus groaned and was just about to rest his head on the desk in an admittedly self-indulgent gesture of despair, when there was a knock on the door to his office.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

He was about to call out to allow entry when he remembered the door to his office was actually still locked, even though he had long since cleaned up any evidence of what he had been doing in here. So he strode across the room and unlocked it, opening it to reveal Abby, who looked somewhat startled at this sudden show of solicitude.

“Oh it’s you,” Marcus said, using rudeness to cover up his sudden nervousness. “What do you want?”

Abby held up a small pile of envelopes she held in her hand. “The reports you wanted,” she said, her voice bland. “They would have been submitted earlier, but you weren’t here.”

It was just the right amount of passive aggressive, skirting the line of insubordination, that he was used to from Abby. But she looked distinctly rumpled; her hair had the look of being hastily combed through with fingers, and her shirt was a little unevenly tucked into the waistband of her skirt. She looked like a woman who had just been fucked hard, rammed up against the wall of an elevator—

_ No, don’t think about the elevator. Jesus. _

He couldn’t speak. All he could think about was how wet Abby must be right now, barely feet away from him. How if he breathed in deeply he might be able to smell the lingering aroma of sex on her. How inside one of those crisp, blandly professional envelopes was a little scrap of black lace soaked with the evidence of what she’d done. How hard she’d come while thinking of him.

Marcus swallowed hard and held out his hand for the files.

He had ordered her to hand them to him, and she genuinely did. Marcus felt a frisson of electric excitement travel up his arm as he grasped the pile of plain envelopes and walked back across the room to place them as casually as he could manage into the in-tray on his desk.

It was a pretty full tray; he was an organized person by nature, but he had a lot of work. And he was willing to bet Abby had gambled on that fact, because if she hadn’t marked the envelope with anything, by the time her boss got around to looking at it – one of dozens of almost identical corporate logo embossed envelopes from both internal and external mail – he’d have no way of knowing who it came from.

She knew how to play the game, Abby.  _ Nice move. _

“You’re welcome,” she said sarcastically, apparently bored of waiting for a response and no doubt pissed as hell at him for more reasons than she could count. Marcus managed a disinterested nod and sat down at his desk again, looking down at his laptop as though he couldn’t even be bothered to watch her leave.

She didn’t actually slam the door to his office, but it was close. A minute later, he got a new message on his phone.

_ -> It’s done _

And then, barely a couple of seconds later:

_ -> By the way, if I get fired for this, can I get a reference from you for my next job? _

That startled a laugh out of him, quickly stifled. The irony of Abby asking her current boss that question, unknowing, was perversely amusing. But she had done her job deftly; if Marcus hadn’t already known what he knew, if he had really been as ignorant as Abby believed him to be, he would genuinely have had no way of discovering who the plain-looking envelope was from. In fact, she had put him in such a position that to call her out on it would be tantamount to admitting he _ did _ have some other way of knowing.

His secret was safe. He could keep playing his little games with her. He could keep  _ her. _

Marcus wasn’t sure whether he felt relieved or disappointed, but whatever the feeling was, it was more intense than he would like, and he didn’t want to examine it too closely. He was back, and far too far gone now to fool himself into thinking he was strong enough to stop this, whatever it was. He hadn’t been strong enough to stay away. It had driven him half crazy even to try.

He spent the rest of his afternoon planning his next orders for Abby. The envelope he carefully slipped into his briefcase, to take home.

* * *

_ -> I don’t know if I can do this _

Marcus smiled at the message fondly. He had received several messages like it from Abby over the course of their relationship, always saying much the same thing, always as he asked her to do something new, something outside of her comfort zone.

And she always did it. She had never backed down from a single thing, and it was astonishing to think that she still apparently had no idea just how  _ fearless _ she really was. How passionate and sensual and  _ perfect  _ she was.

_ -> This isn’t a discussion, Abby. You WILL do this _

She didn’t reply, which he knew her well enough to understand as acquiescence. His mind spent the next few minutes before the meeting was due to start occupied with imagining Abby performing the next necessary steps to today’s orders. For his own part, he had already been careful to...take care of himself, before he had headed to the meeting room, else he knew this would end up being as much torture for him as for her.

Excitement burned in his veins, putting him on edge, fidgety with anticipation in a way he never was before a meeting. He had never had a problem with public speaking, and this particular meeting – more of a progress update than a discussion – he had rehearsed so many times he could recite it in his sleep. Which was just as well, given that his mind was likely to be occupied elsewhere.

Marcus had just had time to start considering whether this actually was a step too far, when his colleagues started filing into the room.

Abby wasn’t late, for once, but had apparently decided that blending in with the crowd – if about twenty people in their immediate department could be called a crowd – was the safest option. His eyes tracked her as she calmly made her way to a chair at the end of the long table, furthest away from where he stood at the head of the room, and sat down with barely a flinch. It was a good choice – her position meant that once everyone was seated, their heads would all be turned away from her and focused on Marcus; only his own eyes were turned towards Abby.

She looked slightly...distracted. That was the only outward sign.

He had allowed Abby underwear today, for one reason only – so that the slim, elegant black vibrator he had ordered her to slide into herself before attending the meeting would be held firmly in place. It had been very expensive; comfortable, whisper silent, and – he knew from personal experience – devastatingly powerful.

He thought he could detect a faint flush on her cheeks as Sinclair addressed some remark to her across the table, as everyone took their seats. Taking pity on her, Marcus rapped his knuckles sharply on the table to get the attention of the room.

“Since you’re all here in a timely fashion for once, I’ll get started,” he said, and launched into his prepared speech on the numbers for this month.

He let the familiar words flow from his mouth, making sure his gaze fell upon every person in the room as he spoke, making a conscious effort not to simply stare at Abby. She was fidgeting a little in her chair, but no more perhaps than anyone else. Her eyes, while obediently fixed on him, had a slightly glazed, distant look. She was effortlessly sexy today, as every day, in her damned sensible clothes and her hair swept back into a ponytail, the picture of the model employee she had promised to be. He imagined her delicate silk and lace panties – sweet, virginal white today – growing clinging and damp with her arousal as the vibrator worked its magic. His cock stirred at the thought, not ready yet to maintain another erection but getting there with concerning rapidity.

Marcus forced his thoughts back to the meeting, clicking through a few slides on the screen behind him, trying not to think about Abby’s sweet, dusky nipples tightening into sensitive little buds just a few yards away, pleasure building between her legs and rippling through her body, the effort it must be taking for her to remain still and silent as she was stimulated more and more.

He hadn’t let her come for a whole week before this; as such a profoundly sensual person it had been something like torture for her, something she had made no secret of, describing to him in her messages in mouth-watering detail exactly how desperate she was becoming, how horny even the slightest stimulus made her. He had seen her pupils dilate with sudden lust when he had accidentally-on-purpose brushed his fingers against the inside of her wrist when handing her a file, and had been forced to take a ten minute break in his office with the door locked, jerking off to suddenly very vivid fantasies about laving his tongue against that exact spot of her skin until she came just from that.

Abby had been allowed no such relief, no matter how she begged. She had tortured him with lust for so long, it was far past her turn to squirm. And now he had finally given her permission to get herself off, in such a way that presented her most difficult challenge yet.

His eyes drifted back to her, to see she was rocking in her chair, almost imperceptibly. She was biting her lip. She was always so vocal in her pleasure, his Abby, it must be  _ agonizing _ for her to try and keep quiet like this, as her body rushed headlong towards the first orgasm she had been allowed in unbearably long.

She was trembling slightly. Her eyes drifted closed...

Marcus felt a sudden, wicked impulse.

“Abby!” he barked.

She jerked in her seat, her eyes flying open. “Yes?” she gasped.

A few other heads turned curiously towards her. She sounded exactly like someone who’d been caught out not paying attention, perhaps even dozing off.

“You’ve been unusually quiet,” Marcus said, an edge of irony to his voice. “Do I have your full attention?”

Abby nodded. Maybe she didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Good,” said Marcus, and kept his eyes fixed on her for a long moment, deliberately drawing it out in a way that could look like nothing more than a pointed reprimand to anyone else. Abby didn’t look away. She didn’t squirm. He could tell she wanted to, desperately, could see the tension in every taught line of her body. But she didn’t give into it. Whatever pleasure was pulsing deep inside her, she kept it contained.

_ Good girl. _

He returned to his speech, heading towards the wrap-up. While he had kept his voice level while he told them the bare facts of their progress, now that he was getting to the end, he let his voice become a little more expressive, personal, leaning forward with his hands on the table.

“We’ve got a good team here,” he said. “We can do this.” And then that same devilish sense of humor he tried to keep wrapped up at work made him say: “We’re close. We’re  _ so _ close to where we need to be.”

_ Desperately, agonizingly close, I’d say. _

He let his voice lower an octave, the harshness creeping back into it. Marcus Kane – that bastard. And the bastard was what Abby _ liked _ , even if she couldn’t admit it to herself.

“But we’ve been slipping,” he said, looking around at everyone in turn. “We need to work  _ harder _ ,” he growled, and he thought he saw Abby shiver in his peripheral vision. “We need to work harder than we ever have before. No excuses. No arguments.”

He risked a look. He could see Abby’s hands, resting apparently casually on the table in front of her but balled into fists, her knuckles white. A faint flush was spreading over her chest, visible only in the tantalizing v of skin that her sensible button down shirt revealed.

Marcus swallowed hard, losing the thread of what he was saying for a moment. God, she really was going to come in a room full of twenty people. Listening to his voice. Fuck.  _ Fuck. _

He sat down at the head of the table where he had been standing, grateful for the excuse of his piece being over.

“Any questions?” he asked, which was always the cue to open up the more discussion-based part of the meeting. The people around the room shuffled uncomfortably, and eventually Sinclair was the first to get the courage to speak up.

But Marcus barely listened to what he had to say, because his eyes had been drawn back to Abby, who was flushed pink and staring resolutely down at the table, as her shoulders trembled and her chest rose and fell in what appeared to be rapid little gasps.

And then she came.

She didn’t make a sound. She just stiffened suddenly and then gave a kind of whole-body shiver, her eyes closing for a long moment, her lips parting silently. Marcus thought if he were sitting right next to her, he might hear the faintest whisper of an exhale, perhaps the very edge of a whimper. Otherwise Abby was perfectly, exquisitely controlled, only the fluttering of her eyelashes and the quivering of her sweet, pink lips betraying the storm of ecstasy unfurling inside her and taking possession of her body for what seemed like an eternity. It was the single most erotic sight of his life.

Marcus didn’t dare so much as glance at Abby again for the rest of the meeting, short though it was. He was achingly hard under the table, and after day of fantasizing about this, he found it was all he could do to try and stop himself from thinking about it for the sake of his own sanity. God how he wished no-one else in this room was here. How he wished it was just  _ her _ , squirming and whimpering in her chair as she came and came and came, forced to look into his eyes as he watched her, knowing that he knew...

When the meeting ended, Marcus remained in his seat, opening his laptop in front of him as though he intended to work right there in the meeting room until lunch. The truth was he didn’t dare stand up, and work was the furthest thing from his mind. Had been for weeks, actually, which was a revelation that somewhat surprised him, even now that he thought about it.

Abby made it out of the room without incident, though he saw another colleague speak to her with a concerned expression, perhaps wondering if she wasn’t feeling well. It was hardly an unfair assumption – she was flushed and trembling, sweat beading on her skin.

Marcus gave her five minutes to get back to her own office, then sent his message.

_ -> How was the meeting, baby? _

The reply came immediately.

_ -> Agonizing _

_ -> Did you come like I wanted you to? _

_ -> Three times _

Jesus. If he hadn’t already been sitting down, Marcus was sure his knees would have buckled at that answer. She had come while listening to his voice. She had sat there and kept her pretty little mouth clamped shut as orgasm after orgasm swept through her, her eyes focused on him at the head of the room.

His hands were trembling slightly as he typed:

_ -> Good girl _

Then...fuck it, she had done what he wanted, hadn’t she? Why not reciprocate with a bit of honesty of his own?

_ -> If I were there in that meeting,  _ he typed, _ I wouldn’t have been able to take my eyes off you. I wouldn’t have heard a single word anyone said. I would have waited until everyone else had left, bent you over the table and fucked your brains out _

A few long moments of nothing and then a reply:

_ -> I would have begged you to _

Marcus let out a long, slow breath. His heart was pounding against his ribs as he reached down to unbuckle his belt and fumble at his clothes to draw out his achingly hard cock. The door to this room didn’t lock, anyone could technically come in at any time, but right now he didn’t fucking care. Nothing seemed as important as this. He let his free hand stroke exquisitely slowly up and down his shaft as he typed one-handed:

_ ->Tell me, did you imagine that, when you came? Did you think about me, like a good girl? Or maybe you imagined your asshole boss fucking you, punishing you for not paying attention to his speech _

_ -> Would you be jealous if I did, Sir? _

_ -> You’re allowed your fantasies, Abby. I’m not the jealous type _

A lie. He was jealous of the very clothes she wore. Of everyone who so much as looked at her as she passed. He was even jealous of the little black vibrator that had been inside her.

_ -> Tell me how you imagine him. Do you think he’d treat you gently? Or do you think all those years of frustration would make him fuck you like an animal in heat? _

_ ->Hard  _ she replied. _ He’d fuck me hard _

_ -> Tell me _

And so she did. Marcus pumped his hand frantically around his cock, groaning and shuddering with pleasure as Abby’s dirty little fantasies spilled out in front of him, every word imagined as her soft, throaty voice murmuring in his ear. And he realized, as he came so hard it was all he could do not to cry out, that she knew exactly what she was doing to him. That she had learned to play his game right back. She turned him on like no one else ever had; she always had done, unintentionally, with every sarcastic comment to his face, every roll of her eyes, the tantalizing sway of her hips as she strode away from him down a corridor...and now, although she had no idea who he was, she knew exactly how to turn him on deliberately too, exactly what buttons to push.

He slumped in his chair, panting and spent, shocked at himself for letting things go this far. He was utterly consumed with her, half mad with frustrated lust, out of control in a way he never had been before. And she...

How could she know him so goddamn well and still not know him at all?

* * *

It was several days later when he saw her at the bar.

It wasn’t what anyone would have called a nice place. But the drinks were cheap if the bartender knew you, and it was quiet enough, and Marcus was used to it by now. It was a place to go when his large, expensive apartment felt too empty and he needed to be around people. Not to talk to anyone exactly, just to sit and have a drink and get out of his own head.

Marcus had used to come here fairly often, back in the time in his life when he hadn’t yet figured out what he needed, and tried to find it in the arms of random strangers. People came here for only two reasons: to get drunk or to get laid. Or both. These days his visits were more infrequent, but this Sunday night after a miserable weekend he had found he really needed a drink, and he really didn’t want to start drinking at home alone. He’d just needed a distraction from the thoughts that had been filling his mind lately.

Maybe it was only fitting with his particular brand of luck that the _ subject  _ of those thoughts was apparently as inescapable as the thoughts themselves.

Abby.

She was sitting on a barstool, half turned away from him, but he would recognize her anywhere. It wasn’t the tight red dress he noticed first, though it was short enough to display almost the full length of her gorgeous legs, or her hair unbound and glowing like a waterfall of rippling amber under the bar-lights. It was the look on her face; not sad, exactly, but pensive, distant. Marcus had never seen her look like that before… he’d seen her laugh, roll her eyes, seen any number of disapproving glares thrown his way, but this...

And she was alone.

Perhaps she’d come here to meet someone. The thought hit Marcus like a punch to the stomach. As a matter of principle, he never got involved with women who were married or in committed relationships, however consensual it all might have been – it wasn’t any prudishness on his part, he simply didn’t like to share. But there was no rule about casual sex, and he’d have had no real way of enforcing it even if there was.

He was telling himself that it was none of his business, that he should just walk away, all while his traitorous body propelled him across the room to her. When she heard someone walking up to stand beside her, Abby turned with an unreadable expression on her face. When she realized who it was however, her eyes widened slightly, and she let out a little breath of laughter, utterly without humor, at seeing him. She was wearing dark red lipstick too, and her dress was low cut at the front as well as being distractingly short; she looked like a woman straight out of a fantasy, like some kind of succubus sent to earth to torment him, temptation incarnate. Marcus swallowed hard.

“Of _ course _ it’s you,” Abby said, and turned back to the bar. It wasn’t quite a dismissal, but a strange reaction nonetheless, as though her instinctive animosity was a little forced.

“What are you doing here?” Marcus asked, knowing even as he did that it was still none of his damn business.

Abby didn’t answer him. But she didn’t tell him to fuck off either, which struck him as odd. She had every right to.

“Have you ever wanted something,” she said suddenly, after an uncomfortably long silence, “and then you get it, and even though it’s good, really  _ really _ good, better than you thought it would be, it’s still...not enough?”

Marcus stared at her, having absolutely no idea what to say in response. He saw the empty glass in front of her, wondering what was in it. One drink was hardly enough to rid a person of all their inhibitions, but Abby was a slight woman, and though her words were unslurred the slightly glazed look in her eyes belied something beyond just a preoccupied mind. And just because she only had one glass in front of her right now didn’t mean that was all she had drunk.

He should have asked her if she was alright. He should have turned around and left her. He did neither.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I have.”

Before Abby could respond, they were joined by another man, one of the big-shot city types wearing an expensive suit and a plastic smile who hung out here sometimes. He swaggered up and inserted himself into their conversation without any apparent hesitation, leaning on the bar the other side of Abby’s barstool.

“Is this guy bothering you?” he said, his voice oozing charm and false concern.

Abby’s lips curled into the mockery of a smile. “Every day of my damn life,” she said, without taking her eyes off Marcus.

“Boyfriend?” asked the man casually, as though he were enquiring over nothing more important than the weather. “Or husband? Either way he’s not good enough for you.”

Marcus felt anger spark in the pit of his stomach, along with an unpleasant lurch of something else entirely. If he hadn’t arrived when he did, if this guy had approached Abby when she was alone...what would she have done? Accepted his advances? Gone home with him? Gone to bed with him?

The very thought of it made him want to drive his fist into the other man’s face. Reining back the sudden violent impulse, he settled for one of his most steely glares. “She’s not interested,” he said.

“You don’t know me,” said Abby quietly.

But Marcus  _ did  _ know her now; that was the problem. He knew Abby Griffin profoundly,  _ intimately _ . He knew her deepest, most shameful desires and he knew that going to bed with some random slimeball who didn’t give a shit about her had never been one of them.

This wasn’t what she wanted. Marcus had never been the kind of asshole to shame a woman for a one-night stand, but he knew for a fact that Abby had never had one, never sought them out, never considered sex with a stranger worthwhile. Whatever she was doing now was part desperation, part bravado and a whole lot of alcohol, and he was pretty damn sure if this creep ended up being the first person she slept with after her late husband, she’d regret it forever.

“Sounds like maybe she  _ is _ interested,” said the man, grinning. “Sounds like maybe you should mind your own business.”

Marcus saw Abby flinch slightly as the man laid a hand on her bare arm.

“Come on baby, let’s get out of here.”

“Ah—” Abby bit her lip, cutting herself off. Marcus saw the sudden spark of panic in her eyes, the realization of what exactly lay at the end of the road she had started down. Bravado only went so far. “I don’t...”

Marcus took a step forward, his eyes fixed on the other man.

“Take your hand off her,” he said, “and  _ leave _ .”

Whatever the man heard in his voice or saw in his eyes, he must have decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, because he gave an ironic little smile and turned to disappear back into whatever corner he’d crawled from. Marcus watched him go with the unpleasant prickling feeling of an animal with its hackles raised, then turned back to Abby. His instinct – he wasn’t sure from his role as her boss or from their more unconventional relationship – was to berate her, to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. The ugly, animal side of him wanted to bend her over the bar, shove that tight little dress up and fuck her hard in front of that sleazebag who dared think he could touch her, to claim her as his own in the most primal, brutal way.

But when he looked at Abby’s face he saw she was staring into nothing again, a certain brightness to her eyes that suggested she might not be far from crying.

Shit.

His jealous lust crumbled in an instant. This was the part he wasn’t good at, had _ never _ been good at. The part when someone needed him, and he inevitably wasn’t enough. This was why he didn’t do conventional relationships. Marcus knew how to give orders, to run things, to make the hard choices; when someone needed a fair hearing or a firm hand or just some blunt advice, he was always the right man for the job. He knew how to give pleasure; he was  _ good _ at that. But when it came to giving comfort to someone in pain, he always felt like a fake. Who would take comfort from someone like him?

But then, Abby didn’t have anyone else right now, did she? And he’d promised to take care of her, even if she didn’t know it.

“I’ll call you a cab,” he said stiffly. She just nodded.

Marcus didn’t know what to say to her without the safety of hiding behind a screen or a job title, so he said nothing more. Being the Good Samaritan wasn’t exactly his usual M.O. It was a role he felt uncomfortable in, oddly exposed.

_ I’m not the good guy _ , he wanted to tell her as she took his hand so he could help her off her barstool.  _ I’m the bastard, remember? The cold, workaholic prick who’s always writing you up for every toe you put out of line. The one who threatened to fire you barely a week ago and who was still thinking just now about how it would feel to have your gorgeous legs wrapped around me while I fucked you up against the wall of the bar. _

_ This isn’t some selfless act of kindness,  _ he wanted to say, as he hailed a cab and ordered her inside it, his voice of authority prevailing for once over Abby’s less-than-stable state. _ This isn’t just about stopping you from doing something I know you’ll regret tomorrow. This is about how I can’t think of that man touching you without wanting to tear the whole fucking bar apart. This is about you being mine. _

Marcus left the bar as soon as she was gone. He went home, not particularly wanting to, but not knowing what else to do. If only he could have gotten into the office this late he might have gone there just to bury himself in his work...that had always worked in the past, hadn’t it? Until Abby had come along, that was. But removing himself from that place – and her – altogether hadn’t worked either when he’d tried that. She was everywhere. Hell, if she hadn’t been at the bar tonight he knew he would have spent the whole time thinking about her anyway. She was inside his head, under his skin, and there was no escaping that.

He felt guilty, angry, stalking around his apartment, crackling with pent up energy. One minute he was cursing fate for throwing Abby into his path like this, the next he was sure it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He _ wanted _ her so badly that he almost hated her for it, and yet he was allowed only scraps; her voice on the end of a phone, the coolly erotic silk of her panties in his hands, tantalizing glimpses of her body that he could look at but never touch.

And god he wanted so badly to touch her. Every night in his dreams—

The buzzing of his phone almost made him jump. Marcus reached into his pocket and stared down at the screen, looking at the three little words that Abby had sent him.

_ -> I need you _


	4. Chapter 4

Just a simple sentence. Eight letters on the dark screen of his phone, and he was rocked to his core. 

It was the plea of a lonely, desperate woman and for the briefest of moments it was so easy to fool himself thinking it was meant just for him, the man who had burned for her as he'd helped her to his cab, and whose whole body now ached thinking of her sad eyes on the other side of the screen.

But it was not for him. _She would never need him in that way._

She wasn't offering any new, more intimate role in her life for his other persona either. She simply thought this man could grant her an escape from her hollow life by fucking her until her mind was bleached blank. 

This wasn’t a cry for help, it was an invitation to her bed.

Her next message confirmed his suspicions. Despite his better judgment, he seized his phone the second he saw it light up with a new notification.

-> _309 Park Avenue, Apt. 11_

 _Fuck_. She lived only a few blocks away. All this time as he’d stroked himself to the dreams of her body, she had been just a five minute's drive away, naked, flushed with arousal, and touching herself to his exact directions. The thought was unbearable.

He had already been half-hard coming home with the image of Abby in that tantalising red dress still clinging to his mind, but now his cock was painfully rigid and straining against his trousers, demanding immediate attention. Taking it in his own hand suddenly felt revolting. It was a miserable substitute to the warm, willing woman so close, yet so far away from his reach. Even if he decided to eradicate his conscience and go to her apartment, he couldn't just waltz in as her boss. 

He didn't know whether Abby would scream or punch him first, but he was certain that she would do both, and maybe kick him in the crotch for good measure. 

Typing his next, cool message had to be one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

_- > I don't do booty calls _

He set his phone on the desk and headed out of the living room. A blindingly cold shower should do the trick. After that, he could just down the emergency brandy he stored in his bookshelf and fail miserably in not thinking about her for the rest of the night. 

He had not even reached the bathroom when he heard his phone buzz. He stopped in his tracks. _Walk away_ , he commanded himself. She could say nothing that would convince him to drop his resolve. He had to be strong enough to resist a single message. If he couldn't do that, how was he going to survive work? How could he bear catching a glimpse of her in the hallway or just hearing her voice? 

The phone buzzed again, and his body jerked as if electrified. _Damn her. Damn her_. She was going to kill him, and it would be a cruel and agonizing death. 

He would cherish every second. 

Like a sheep marching to the slaughterhouse, he returned to his phone and devoured the two new messages from her. 

_- > I don't care _

_- > I know how much you want me. You have spent hundreds of dollars on me. Your orders come in from every hour of the day. If you were just playing with me to pass the time, I would strongly advise you to get a cheaper and less consuming hobby _

_Ouch_. So much for holding the upper hand. She knew exactly to what extent she'd monopolized his time and thoughts – his entire life, actually. That was a dangerous power to wield. Marcus already regretted reading the message and giving her this new hold of him.

_- > You have prepared me long enough. I'm ready. Come and take me _

His cock throbbed. She was desperate, it echoed from her every word. It was weakening him, making him want things he had no right to want. He yearned to know what it would feel like to peel that dress off her, to unwrap her like a coveted present. He wanted to see all of her bared before his eyes, hear her make those sounds the recording in his phone could hardly do justice to. He wanted to finally get to taste her. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted.

But a man could only dream.

 _- > This about anonymity. Our relationship has no basis if you see my face and we learn each other's identity _, he typed as his definite, final answer.

Now if she would just stop tempting him, he would get to go numb himself down with freezing water and alcohol.

Her next message came not a second later.

_- > I will blindfold myself _

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Marcus' throat was sandpaper. A wave of flames swept over his body at the new, forbidden image. Abby naked in her bed, a silken scarf tied over her eyes. She would be trembling with anticipation, expecting a stranger to step in any minute now and lower his hands on her sweet, creamy flesh while she was oblivious to the world...

_- > I will leave the door open. You can just walk in, grab me, fuck me as hard as you can wherever you want me. Against the wall, over my kitchen counter, on my bed. I don't care. Just make me scream _

Arousal lurched inside him like a seismic wave. His cock was pulsing inside the suffocating canvas of his trousers. This had to be a test, a cruel, inhuman experiment trying his innate goodness, or whatever the fuck was still left inside him fighting against the burning desire to hop in his car and rush to 309 Park Avenue. 

She would be right in him opting to fuck her against any available surface. He doubted his willpower would even last out of the hall if he saw her waiting for him with that blindfold on. He would have to take her on the floor.

He could make it good for her. There was a reason he was popular in these circles. And it was _her_ . He would wring every drop of pleasure there was in her and still have her beg for more. He dreamed about rendering her into a quivering and whimpering mess, unable to form coherent speech. He would take as many time rounds as it took to exhaust Abby _fucking_ Griffin out of her words.

He would have her completely at his mercy. He'd either tease her for hours or make her come successively so hard her she forgot her own name. All the while she was none the wiser about his identity.

Hellfire was licking at his ankles. He should be eternally tortured for even considering this. 

Yet, wasn't he only a man wanting to help a woman in need? This was what she explicitly wanted – someone to keep her dark thoughts at bay for the night. It didn't matter whether it was her asshole boss or someone else as the recipient of her messages. She just wanted a stranger who could make her feel good. 

He grabbed his keys. He was already at the door, tugging on his jacket, trying to will all the blood from his brain to his cock when a memory flashed through his mind. Abby at the bar, her eyes glistening with unshed tears just after the sleazy businessman had tried to coax her to leave with him. The sad, hollow look in her eyes. It still gnawed at him. 

He slumped against his wall, defeated. What made _him_ different from the soulless one-night stand she could've had with the other man? 

Judging by her desperate, alcohol-induced plea, she'd intended to sleep with someone one way or another tonight. Regardless of whether it was him or that slimeball at the bar, she would be left in tears at the end of the night, even emptier and lonelier than before. What kind of a monster could take advantage of her emotional vulnerability and do that to her?

He was truly a bastard. More a beast than a man. 

He typed his next message, defeated but assured.

_- > I can't give you what you really need _

Her dejected answer came a few hours later in his long, sleepless night.

_- > I know _

* * *

The next day Marcus was so hungover he couldn't lift himself off the bed without getting immediately crushed back down by his raging headache. For the first time in his life, he was forced to call in sick to work. His physical ailments probably wouldn't have prevented him from doing his job any other day, but the prospect of seeing Abby there was just unendurable.

"It must be going around," his assistant, McIntyre, commented after he told her about his 'flu'. "One of your employees called in about the same thing."

"Abby Griffin?" he asked, startled.

"Yes, her exactly." Her tone turned more suggestive. "It's not that much of a surprise though, considering how much time you spend in her office–"

Marcus hung up. 

Refusing to come over had been the right thing to do, but he couldn't help but feel a burning need to be there right now and see her. Worry weighed on his stomach. She had to be in truly bad shape if she used one of her precious sick days she always, coincidentally, used right after her vacations or during the seminars he arranged twice a year. She was an imp of a woman. 

Yet, Marcus couldn't wipe the picture of her curled up small and desolate in her bed with no one to comfort her from his mind.

 _As if she would want you there,_ a voice in his head admonished harshly.

He tried to push her from his mind by working from home. He prepared himself a mind-numbingly strong cup of coffee, opened his laptop and started answering some emails only in his boxers and a shirt. No hangover could be bad enough to prevent him from keeping things running. 

After McIntyre answered one of his emails with a stern order to stop and go back to bed, he decided to take a 10-minute power nap. He sat on his bed and checked his phone. His heart skipped a beat. There was a new message from Abby he hadn't seen.

Without thinking, he greedily opened it.

_- > I hope I did not cross any deal-breaking line last night. I don't want this to end _

He answered immediately.

_- > Me neither _

After a few seconds of hesitation, he sent another message. He still had the inexplicable, compelling need to make sure she was okay.

_- > Let me see you _

_- > From waist up or the whole body? _

Marcus was confused for a second until he realized she thought he wanted nude pictures. He quickly corrected himself.

_- > I want to see your face _

He reflected on his message as he waited for her answer. What the hell was happening to him? First, he turned down the chance to fuck the woman he had dreamed of for years, and the next day he declined her offer to show him her naked body. 

He had to be going insane, or _worse._

_- > Why? I'm not even wearing any make-up _

_- > Just let me see you _

_- > I'm not looking exactly presentable today _

_- > I don't care _

His phone went mute which he supposed meant a firm 'no'. 

He was well aware that it was hypocritical of him to ask her to show her face right after he had refused to come to her place and let her see him. It had been insulting to even ask her for it.

Marcus thought back to her immediate offer of nude photos. He wondered if she ever just got tired of giving and giving, never demanding anything for herself. No wonder the look in her eyes had been so empty at the bar. 

He needed to put an end to this. He had to stop thinking of her as _his_ and allow her to find someone who can actually give her what was missing from her life.

He was absorbed in dark, accusatory thoughts before his phone snapped him out of his trance by an insistent buzz. He dove for it in a graceless manner. 

Abby had sent him a picture.

She was lying on her bed, her cheek against linen. Her hair was spread as an untamed, curly cloud over her pillow and shoulder. She was smiling abashedly at the camera, almost as if she was laughing a little at herself for taking this kind of a picture. Indeed, she was not wearing any makeup and her eyes looked tired. It was still the most beautiful sight Marcus had ever witnessed. 

He couldn't take his eyes off the picture. He kept zooming in at the little details he discovered more and more of – the freckles on her shoulder, the laugh lines adorning the corners of her lips, her caramel-colored lashes. She was a _painting_.

 _You are so beautiful_ , he thought.

 _- > pretty, _ he wrote, tempering his feelings.

Abby's answer came soon.

_- > :) _

At that moment, he knew he wanted to give her everything that was in his power to give. He would surrender his body and soul to her if it was what it took to get her to look at him like she had in the picture some day.

Marcus let the phone plop down his chest. He stared up at his ceiling in disbelief and dread. 

He was royally fucked.

* * *

Abby's morning couldn't have been off to a worse start. She had stayed up so long talking to her anonymous correspondent about various silly topics from their favorite seasons to their mutual love for Mark Knopfler, causing her to sleep past her alarm. On top of that, the train she usually took to work had broken down for 20 minutes because of a dusting of snow on the tracks, she had forgotten about the no-underwear rule and hastily dressed in her most unflattering granny panties, her heel had broken when she had made a dash for the elevator, and most pressingly, she hadn't had sex for _three years_.

That was the issue her mind returned when all her other problems were resolved. The train had started moving eventually, her benefactor had been more interested, oddly enough, in conversation about nonsexual topics so she'd been able to keep her choice of underwear to herself, and Charmaine had borrowed her a pair of flat heel shoes to get her through the day. Still, she felt utterly miserable by the time she reached her own floor. 

She had given her weekend a simple goal: find someone to sleep with. He didn't even have to be good, he just needed to breathe, consent and be able to sustain an erection. She needed nothing more to get off on her own. 

It was utterly pathetic she had failed even at that.

Thankfully, Kane was less of an ass than usual. When she came two minutes late to the meeting, he only shot her a brief, sideways glance and continued his presentation like nothing had happened. But then he asked her to stay behind after the meeting. 

She was prepared to hear some cutting remarks about her perpetual tardiness and was already retreating to the happy place in her head, but he surprised her with something else entirely.

"Are you okay?"

Kane was looking at her in an uncanny way. She blinked once, then twice.

"Well, I'm no longer sick. I'm not going to infect anyone if that's what you are worried about."

He combed his fingers through his distractingly lush hair. "I mean, are you _okay_?"

Remembering the pitying way he'd looked at her in the bar on Sunday, she narrowed her eyes. "Why do you care?"

His face fell in an instant. She almost felt bad for answering so harshly, but then again, when had she ever needed kid gloves while butting heads with him? 

He didn't answer anything which Abby took her cue to leave. She was just about to step out of the door when he raised his voice again.

"You are right. I don't give a fuck about you or anyone else. I'm just a machine who cares more about results than people. Thank you for reminding me, _yet again_."

Any other day she would've let that fly past her as one of his usual dry comebacks, but there was a startlingly raw note of self-deprecation in his voice that gave her pause. _Was he actually bothered by what she thought about him?_ She glanced back at him but couldn't gauge any emotion from his face. He was completely expressionless as he leafed through his meeting notes as if he hadn't remarked anything at all.

The gears in her head started turning. Had the miserable state he had witnessed her in at the bar affected the way he viewed her?

She never should've gone to that bar and let him play a knight in shining armor for her. If he thought of himself as some sort of a protector of hers from now on, she wouldn't last another day sane at work.

But not long after came one of his usual Kaneisms. 

"Next time, at least try to show up on time. And iron your shirt. 

_Ah. So no danger of Prince Charming showing up, then._

She let the door fall back shut and turned to face him with her fists furiously balled by her sides. 

" _Excuse me_ , if I'm not exactly on top of my game the first morning after my sick leave."

"That is no excuse. I also called in sick yesterday and look at me."

She didn't know why she bothered to look. His suit was as if cast over him, every solid edge of his body elegantly outlined. In addition, he was wearing an expensive watch, cufflinks, and a stylish tie for once. Even the beard he was trying to grow was groomed impeccably.

She wanted to punch him.

"You took a sick day? I'm sorry, but color me skeptical. You are _never_ sick.

"There are many kinds of sickness."

"Let me guess," Abby began, thick sarcasm dripping from her tongue. "You found some pretty bird at that bar who you kept you up all night so you decided to indulge yourself with a long weekend?"

"Pretty much."

Her sarcastic follow-up remark withered on her lips. Abby was suddenly robbed of her ability to say anything at all. 

She stared at him in stunned silence, trying to wrap her mind around what she'd just heard. Had Marcus Kane actually just boasted he'd gotten laid?

Judging by his body language, the answer was yes. The man was still looking at his papers, but the corner of his mouth twitched up. He was smiling a private little smile down at his desk. 

"Who?" tumbled involuntarily from between her lips.

That made him finally to lift his head and meet her eyes. He looked at her meaningfully for a moment, and after scanning her expression, the man actually dared to _smirk_.

"That is, frankly, none of your business."

She was going to murder him. She was going to wrap her fingers around his thick neck and squeeze until there was nothing left to squeeze. Kane would probably be able to flick her off like a tiny irritating mosquito, but it was the thought that counted. She couldn't just let him rub his sexual conquests into her face. 

The man had some _nerve_.

Today was the worst of all days to be put in this situation. She didn't feel even remotely sexy with her wrinkled shirt, flat heel shoes, and most unerotic underwear money could buy. Perhaps the usual Abby with her killer heels, red lipstick, and lace garters would have been able to convince Kane of the respective line of cocks at her end of the court, but under his scrutinizing gaze today she felt she had as much sexual power over him than the shriveling potted plant on the desk.

She left the conference room fuming, trying not to think about which pretty blonde Kane had gotten to wrap her legs around him right after he'd ushered his pathetic little employee into a cab. 

Maybe she should've just gone with that sleazy businessman. She would have enjoyed seeing Kane's face if she'd actually taken his arm and blown him a kiss on her way to the door. That would have felt better than any sex with no strings attached.

She decided to unpack her feelings by answering to an earlier message from her benefactor.

_- > I didn't think it would be possible, but my boss succeeded in making feel even shittier _

The reply came after a surprisingly long delay.

_- > I'm sorry to hear that _

He went silent for the rest of the day.

After the excruciating eight hours at work, the thing that managed to salvage her entire week was waiting for her at her home. A gift-wrapped bouquet of red tulips had been tied with a pretty little bow to her door handle, her name written in the label with clear bold letters. There was no message or name of the sender on the back.

Abby carried the flowers inside, feeling giddy for the first time in forever. She would have to thank Sinclair or Charmaine later for figuring out the perfect way to cheer her up. 

When she had arranged the tulips in a vase and studied the end result, she felt oddly wistful. The bouquet and the long, surprisingly thoughtful conversations with the man who had been dominating her life these past few months reminded her of a time she'd felt truly loved and appreciated. How could have it been so long?

She needed something real, not just anonymous gifts or sexts with a stranger. Or at least, someone who she could break this drought with. She didn't want to live in a universe Marcus Kane could get laid but she couldn't.

For years her friend Callie had been begging to set her up, and maybe now was finally the time to let her do that.

* * *

She had at least tried. 

She'd given Callie permission to pass her number to her colleague. Soon a man named Thelonious Jaha had called her. He was perfectly nice, handsome enough and well-off. She agreed to go on a date with him.

She'd done everything right. She'd let him open doors for her, pull up her chair for her, pay for her food. She'd patiently listened to his opinions on a varied list of topics and agreed politely whenever there was a lull in his monologue. She'd laughed at all of his jokes and smiled at his several superficial compliments. 

Sure, he was the sort of man who didn't tip his waitress if she didn't smile at him enough, and he had a disconcerting obsession with his ex, but he also had his good qualities. Abby just struggled to remember any of them. 

She'd gone on all three dates with him before she'd invited him for a nightcap at her apartment which he'd enthusiastically agreed to. She hadn't even finished pouring him wine before he'd already thrust his tongue into her mouth. 

In the end, as she was sprawled on her couch with Thelonious on top of her, sucking on her neck like he was trying to slurp down her thyroid, she wondered where exactly she'd gone wrong with this. Thelonious definitely wasn't _the one_ , that she was sure of, but he was a man of flesh and blood, willing to end her years-long drought in a perfectly respectable manner. Callie was happy she was dating again, her daughter was happy that she was getting herself out there, Jake would be happy wherever he was...

Suddenly, she had tears in her eyes. She clamped her hands on Thelonious' chest and pushed. 

"Get off," she ordered weakly.

He removed his lips from her skin with a wet smack. "Did you say something?"

Abby repeated herself, louder this time. When the man didn't seem to register her words, she shoved him off herself and scampered up. 

Thelonious looked confused. "Does this mean we aren't going to have sex?"

"Get out!"

Abby had to practically push him out of the door herself, Thelonious huffing and puffing in annoyance as he tugged on his coat, grumbling something about all the money he had spent on her. He shot one last contemptuous look at her. 

"You know, it's your loss. I'm an _actual_ nice guy–"

Abby slammed the door to his face. 

* * *

If there was only one good thing her "relationship" with Thelonious had brought forth, it was the glaring purple hickey on her neck. The man couldn't have tried harder even if there was money in the game. 

At first, she thought about covering it with a thick layer of foundation. The company was hosting an important cocktail party for the shareholders in the evening, and she didn't exactly want her outer appearance to scream '14-year-old girl with her first boyfriend'. But then again, the event was ten hours away and she had all of her make-up arsenal with her in her purse. She'd do it later. First, Kane would get to see he was not the only one with someone warming up his bed.

The party was the perfect excuse doll up with particular care. Her anonymous correspondent hadn't made any explicit demands on how she should dress for a while, but she still decided to go sans underwear under the red dress Kane had unabashedly devoured with his eyes the other night at the bar. She couldn't wear a bra with it anyway, and the lack of panties made her feel extra naughty as she applied her lipstick. 

Finally at work, the second she spotted him walking down the same hallway as her, she added some subtle sway to her hips. That was usually enough to attract his attention, and the dress couldn't go unnoticed by him. He might loathe her, but he was _only_ a man. 

As she had suspected, Marcus looked up from his folder and glanced at her absently. He was already turning his head back when the blemish on her neck suddenly drew him back like a fish yanked from the hook in its mouth. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze shamelessly glued on her love bite.

When he finally wrench his eyes away and met hers, she quirked one cocky eyebrow. _Interested much?_

Victoriously, she marched away, leaving Kane staring at her back.

She should figure out how to bottle this feeling and sell it thousand dollars a piece. She felt like she could fly. 

The high she got from seeing Kane's expression lasted for a luxurious hour and a half until she was finally brought back on the surface of Earth with one simple message arriving with an insistent buzz. 

_- > I don't like to share _

Abby looked down at her phone, frowning. Her correspondent had probably started to suspect something from the long periods of time she was unavailable to him during her dates with Thelonious. 

It was funny how much it had felt like she was going behind his back. They were not in any actual relationship, but she still found the feeling of betrayal burning in her chest if only for the fact that she knew about his rule about women who were already involved.

_- > It was nothing. And it is over now _

The reply came only a second later.

_- > Good _

It was delicious to be able to draw out his domineering and more carnal nature again. She obediently told him about what she was wearing, or more accurately, what she _wasn't_ , earning herself a very approving answer. She couldn't resist telling him about the hickey and Kane's reaction.

_- > How did your boss look at you? _

_- > Like he wanted to rip off my dress and fuck me right there, in front of everyone _

_- > I'm sure he did _

She was so preoccupied with imagining that exact scenario that she snapped out of her fantasy only a good twenty minutes later, having forgotten to send an important email on time. This relationship definitely wasn't doing wonders to her job performance.

By lunchtime, Kane had dialed up his asshole meter with a record-breaking few dozen notches.

The day was going well, better than expected even, with everyone voluntarily busting their asses off to finish the preparations before the shareholders arrived, dotting and crossing the final i's and t's of their presentations and rushing into restrooms to fix their outfits. Still, Kane acted like everyone that made eye contact with him had personally put a bullet in his grandmother's head. She was usually on the receiving end of whatever was wringing his panties in a twist on any given day, but today the target of his wrath seemed to be anyone at random. She heard that he'd even made a grown man cry. Apparently, it had been the same asshole who had made a lewd remark to her in the elevator, but there was no proof of any correlation. 

Not that he was treating her much better than usual, either. He was ignoring the suggestions she emailed him about his speech at the party, glaring at her across the cafeteria like her very existence offended him, and finally, writing her up for the deadline she missed earlier by four minutes. 

After receiving the news, she marched into his office without knocking, waving her latest warning in the air like a battle flag.

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"

He didn't even look up from his laptop, but he still seemed to know exactly what her problem was.

"You miss an important deadline, you get written up. Are you demanding special treatment?"

"No, I'm demanding basic human decency. It was four minutes!"

"Perhaps I could give you some leeway if it was an internal matter, but this was a specific time frame tailored to one of our biggest clients. It is unacceptable negligence."

"If someone was there on the other end at 12 pm on a Friday, actually counting down the seconds until the project arrived, I will personally crawl up on all fours to their headquarters to apologize."

Kane stiffened, adjusting his position a little before muttering "policy is policy" down at his laptop.

Abby gave him an exasperated sigh. "Is this about the hickey?" 

That sharp question was finally what made him dignify her with a look. "Excuse me?"

"I know you cannot punish me for it without getting a lawsuit on your hands so you invented a convenient loophole."

"Missing deadlines is a regrettable pattern of behavior with you, Abby. I am going to write you up regardless of whether someone has sucked on your neck the night before or not. Besides, you are assuming I care about your personal relationships a great deal more than I actually do. Or do you want me to congratulate you for getting laid?"

Before Abby could muster up even an adequate comeback, he continued, his voice suddenly thick and dark. 

"Tell me, who was the lucky gentleman? Some slick womanizer you met at a bar? Did someone irresistible chat you up? Or did a colleague of ours finally wear you down and took you for just a few drinks?"

"That is– that is hardly any of your business," Abby sputtered. 

"You are right. This is not about some _tool_ you are dating, this is about your work ethic, isn't it?" he asked, clicking at his ballpoint pen as if he'd gotten a question on Jeopardy correct. "As long as I don't think your love life has any effect on your performance, I won't be inquiring into it."

"Are you suggesting that 'some _tool_ I was dating' was the reason I missed the deadline?"

"No. But I do think there was something else on your mind."

He was not exactly wrong there, but Abby would rather eat glass than reveal to him what she had been daydreaming about.

Kane's heavy gaze was burning a whole on her skin. "You look a little flushed there. Are you sure you aren't getting sick again?

"Fuck you."

Kane lifted his brows in that irritating, mock surprise fashion that he always did after succeeding in provoking a reaction out of her.

"Don't make me take disciplinary action twice in one day, Abby."

"What are you going to do, write me up again? I already have enough of those written warnings to wallpaper my office with."

"I may need to resort to some _other_ punishments in the future," he rasped out.

His filthy voice vibrated in her chest, spreading into a blaze to every part of her body. She struggled not to let her reaction be visible in any way. He was just trying to push her buttons, and she'd be damned if she let him win. 

A hot flush swept over her once more at the eye contact he had not yet broken. She felt ridiculous, standing in front of him in her itty bitty red dress and allowing him to thaw her out with just his gaze. 

Finally, his eyes shot down. "While you are here, I need you to go over the expense reports one more time. I'll email them to you. I need an answer, pronto. The shareholders will be here in an hour I don't have time to hound after them then."

"You really do get the kicks from bossing me around, don't you?" she spat out.

"If you truly hated this, you would've quit a long time ago. Believe me, Abby, I know exactly how _hard_ you want me to work you."

Something hot coiled in her lower abdomen at his words. She swallowed, hard. 

She loathed herself for getting so easily flustered with him. He was so good at robbing her of her cool composure it had to be a cultivated skill. 

After she'd been flushed and speechless for a long enough time, he lifted his gaze again.

"You may leave."

He looked bored, almost irritated at her presence as if this whole conversation had been nothing but a waste of time. _Fucking bastard._

She barely resisted the urge to slam his door as she stepped out of his office but did so in the end to save time. She was seething, but most of all, she was so aroused she couldn't think straight. 

Her thighs already felt a little slick as she skittered toward the elevators in as hasty steps her dress would allow. She needed to retreat into her office and fast.

The second she was inside, she grabbed her phone from her purse and started typing a new message to her anonymous admirer.

"I just came from my boss' office–" 

An annoying little ping sounded at the notification of a new email sent from her boss. She tapped on it. The expense reports, just as he had threatened. Abby rolled her eyes. 

She thought about sending a snide reply but decided against it. That could hardly help her case. Maybe she could surprise him by answering politely and promising to get right to it.

It didn't look believable even to her own eyes. She grimaced and backspaced the sentence. 

But Kane was a concern for later. She switched to her note-taking app and began drafting a longer reply she had just gotten the idea for.

_I just came from my boss' office. I'm so turned on I'm afraid to sit on my chair. There is no chance in hell I won't ruin my dress._

_He won't leave me alone until he can fuck his hatred for me out of his system. His cock has him on a leash. It would explain everything from the way he walks to his behavior around me. It is as if he can sense I'm not wearing a scrap of clothing underneath my work attire. Or how wet I am for him._

_I want him to finally snap and grab me. I want him to bend me roughly over his desk and teach me a lesson about allowing another man’s hands on me. He would clamp his hand over my mouth to stifle my screams as he took me from behind. His pace would be brutal. He’d feel so hot and iron-hard and good inside me that my eyes would water. He wouldn't allow me to come, he would pull out just as I was teetering at the edge._

_He would torture me the same way I do him. He'd slide his tongue slowly up the inside of my thigh until his breath was burning against where I needed him the most. He’d tease me around the tip of my clit until I was writhing and sobbing. I'd have to beg him for my release. But he is a jealous man. He'd only let me come if I promised no other man could ever touch me again. He wants to possess me._

She copied the message from her note, pasted it and sent it with a satisfying little _swish_. She closed the tab and leaned back.

A few weeks ago she would have been mortified to entertain these kinds of fantasies, let alone tell someone about them. But they were just that. Fantasies. She was able to compartmentalize her desire for the fantasy Kane apart from her feelings about the real man. The first one was a dominant, smoldering dream lover that wanted to do unspeakable things to her. The other one was just a fucking asshole.

She wished she could imagine any other face when she touched herself, but that was not how this worked, no matter how much she hated it. 

Some people got turned on by leather and spandex, some by roleplay, some just by an underwear catalog. And _some_ by imagining their boss fucking them. It was normal, human even. 

Her benefactor seemed to have his own fantasy about other men wanting to fuck her. What turned him on was describing these filthy fantasies about her boss to him. Really, it was a win-win situation for each party. 

After procrastinating work a few minutes more she finally swiped to go back to her reply to Kane's email, but it was not there anymore. The only tab open was the beginning of a message to her anonymous correspondent.

-> My boss just came to |

She stared at the unfinished sentence with freezing liquid-fear seeping into her guts. She thought back to the message she had just typed. It had not been supposed to go with a swish. There was never a _swish_.

_No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No._


	5. Chapter 5

With a trembling finger, she opened her email. She tapped on her 'Sent' folder. 

There it was. A reply to Marcus Kane's expense reports had been successfully sent. Nothing would bring it back, no matter how desperately and furiously Abby tapped on it, trying to find an option to withdraw the message. 

Eventually, she had to give up before she broke her phone.

She ended up staring blankly in front of her as the realization that her life was over slowly washed over her. There was no coming back from sending your boss something like  _ that _ . There wouldn't be a person in this building who didn't know by tomorrow.

If she handed in her letter of immediate resignation to HR now, she wouldn't have to face him before moving to Antarctica or somewhere just as remote to spend the rest of her lonely life in. She couldn't even imagine the amount of disgust with which he would look at her.

She wallowed in the throes of humiliation for a good while longer before deciding to finally pull herself together. Not everything was lost  _ yet _ . 

She looked at the clock. It was 6:20 pm. The party had to be well on its way already. Maybe Kane hadn't had the opportunity to check his email before leaving to receive the shareholders. After all, he'd specifically told her that he wouldn't have time to make sure she actually took care of the reports. 

There was only one way to find out.

She gathered her hair on her one shoulder to cover the hickey, straightened her dress and stepped out of her office as the picture of composure and elegance, despite that fact that inside, she was shaking like a jelly on a plate.

Most of the guests were in the lobby of the third floor, and she suspected that Kane was out there as well, performing the most distasteful part of his work: mingling. 

She soon spotted him near the back wall. He didn't look like a man who'd just received a scandalous message from his employee. Instead, he looked agonizingly bored. He was sipping a glass of brandy while listening to a client talk about themselves.

This was good. This meant that she still had a chance to somehow delete the message before he saw it.

Abby briefly studied her chances of snatching his phone. But she knew he kept it in his breast pocket based on the numerous times in the past she'd seen him hastily dig it up from underneath his jacket whenever it vibrated. Besides, he would undoubtedly have it fingerprint-protected. 

But there was still his laptop.

She sauntered calmly and confidently past the crowd. She was fortunate enough not to have Kane notice her. Usually, his eyes were trained on her like a hawk the second she stepped into a room. Perhaps he got a thrill bordering on something erotic from laser-focusing on her every flaw.

She made it all the way to his office. She tried the handle, praying it wasn't locked like it usually was, and by a magical chance, the door opened with ease. 

With adrenaline pumping hot in her veins, she slipped in and drew the door shut with a quiet click.

She had been to his office just a few hours before, but it already looked like a whole different place. It was eerily quiet and dark, more like a tomb than a workspace without the familiar sound of Kane typing on his laptop with machine gun speed. His computer was there, positioned right in the middle of his desk with millimeter accuracy. The organization of his desk was just one of the things he was extraordinarily anal about.

She swept over to his chair and quickly lifted the lid of the laptop. It might be only a matter of seconds before someone wandered in.

She blinked her eyes wide open in surprise as the screen turned on. 

She would never have suspected that Kane's computer background was the group picture of all the employees. What shocked her more was how casual the photo was. She could have understood Kane keeping a picture of all of his subordinates in uniform-like neckties and pencil skirts as some boastful reminder of the flock of people he had under him, but instead, the photo had grinning people trying to squash to fit into the frame, wearing light summer clothing. She remembered the day it was taken. It was during one of their company retreats from a few years ago. She'd just had the terrible idea of dying her hair with light streaks which she tried to hide with a broad-brimmed hat and her sunny nothing-is-wrong smile. 

Abby studied the picture and soon noticed it hadn't been adjusted properly. It had been too wide to fit the screen in its entirety and had thus been formatted oddly. Some people were cut out, including a part of Kane himself. Just 3/4 of his awkward, stiff little smile at the camera was visible because only the center part of the image fit on the screen. With some amusement, she noticed that the way the photo had adjusted itself to fill the background gave her the best spot on it, right in the middle. He clearly didn't know how to tinker with his settings to get the whole photo displayed and was now stuck with her grinning face on the foreground of his screen. She felt some petty joy because of it.

She clicked on the screen and the password bar appeared.  _ Shit _ . So long for the hope that he was one of those morons who didn't set a password on their laptop. She tried the usual combinations of 12345, password, IhateAbbyGriffin and other immature variations, but none bore fruit.

Panic was causing acid to climb up her throat. The asshole didn't even have a hint enabled – not that she would have any idea what the name of his first pet or English teacher was. 

That didn't prove to be a problem for much longer. 

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Her head shot up.

_ Kane. _

He was standing in the doorway, his face full of fury and dismay. His pupils were dark and dilated as he looked at her, probably because of the alcohol. His knuckles were white against the doorframe. Such a sight should have sent her cowering in fear and profusely apologizing, but strangely, it didn't. Instead, Abby felt cool confidence course into her veins as she stared back at him defiantly. She squared her shoulders, stood up from his chair and straightened her dress. 

"None of your business, Sir," she answered calmly. She tilted up her chin and rounded his desk to the door. "If you would excuse me..."

As she tried to slip past him, she was stopped by his arm that shot in front of her to bar her way.

"You won't get away that easily," he leaned down, his voice a low rumble. "Give me a good reason not to write you up for snooping around in my office."

"What happened to your other methods of punishments? I was hoping for something more  _ original _ ," she shot back.

"Perhaps you would prefer I fired you instead, effective immediately?"

Abby let a wry smile tug at his lips. It was almost intoxicating to see how much her smirk visibly rattled him. His nostrils flared like those of an enraged bull. 

"You won't."

She felt powerful. There was no hint of his cool bravado from earlier, proving to her that she was just as good at getting under his skin as he was with her. This was a man who probably hated her more than anyone else in the world, and yet, there was no one else who could make him flare up with emotion the same way she did. 

Kane took a step forward, forcing Abby take one back. She eyed this as her opportunity slip past him out of the open door but in vain. Sensing her plans, he seized her elbow and closed the door after him with a definitive clack, never taking his eyes off her.

"Don't make me do this, Abby," he murmured.

"You're not doing anything. I'm calling your bluff."

"You already been insubordinate for years, and now you have been caught red-handed ransacking my office. This is far from you being late or cussing at me. This a potential breach of confidential company records."

"Oh please. I couldn't even get past your password."

Kane visibly struggled to control his expression. "Why were you even trying to get into my computer?"

"To dig up dirt for the means of blackmail, of course. Nice background, by the way. Is that what you're hiding? You're secretly a big softie?"

His face was starting to gain a dangerously dark hue, suggesting otherwise. Abby felt the need to back off, but his grip prevented her from doing so. He was holding her captive between the door and himself. His face was bent down so close she could count his long eyelashes. They were wasted on him.

"Don't look at me like that," she began, voice faltering. "I just made a mistake in my report and wanted to fix it before you noticed and chewed me a new asshole."

"Let me get this right. I give you a simple task and you do not only fail, but you break into my office and then crack jokes about it?"

Abby could detect a slight fragrance of brandy on his breath. It was suddenly hard to concentrate.

"To be fair, I didn't break in," she managed to say. "You left the door open."

"You're only making this worse for yourself. Stop talking." 

"I wouldn't have needed to do this if you weren't such a bastard about everything," she spat out.

His pupils dilated with rage.

"I. Said. Stop. Talking."

"I'm only–"

The rest of her words were swallowed by Kane's mouth crashing against hers. 

His hands tangled in her hair, his solid body pressed against hers, and  _ oh  _ he was kissing her.  _ Marcus Kane _ was kissing her. She let out a belated, surprised little yelp which was swept away by his tongue. Despite the stunned, disoriented state she was in, she had instinctively parted her lips to allow him access. 

His lips were rough and warm, tongue greedy and punishing. A dizzy sort warmth intensified inside her as he kept kissing her as if he was a man starved.

_ Well, this is new. _

That was the only thought in her mind until even that faded away at the toe-curling, wondrous sensation of his mouth on hers.

His stubble was tickling her skin, making her knees quiver. His hands had her firmly caged against him. His skin was hot and hard wherever it grazed hers. This felt good. This felt really good, far better than it had any right to feel.

Her rationality was probably banging the walls of her skull right now, demanding her to push him away. But that was only an educated guess for she heard nothing except for the thick sound of their mouths moving together and the faint sighs of pleasure spilling from her own mouth. She should hate herself. _ I should stop this, _ she decided as she wound her arms around his neck.  _ I am going to storm out of this office _ , she thought as she kissed him back, hard, causing him to slip out a low growl.  _ Any minute now. _

"Is the door locked?" she gasped out, parting momentarily to catch her breath.

As his answer, he slammed her back against it. In an instant his mouth and hands were back on her, hungry and bold. Lips fused with hers, he started sliding his palms down her body. He really,  _ really  _ liked her red dress. She was not wearing any underwear and heat pooled low and deep in her belly at the anticipation of him finding out. The idea was dizzying. She wanted him to  _ know _ .

_ She wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him. _

She didn't even try to deny it to herself. For years, she'd wanted to see his composure crack, make him snap, bring him down to his knees. She'd just never guessed that she wanted it all to be actualized with him like this, pleasure rumbling deep from his chest as she licked into his mouth, his hands starved for her skin, his eyes dark with desperation for  _ more _ .

His fingertips were skimming along her legs, teasing her the sensitive skin of her thighs with high and low circles. She bucked against him.  _ Goddammit, Kane, just lift my skirt! _

But he was intent on savoring her. His hands slipped back up to her waist, sliding slowly up until he had the straps of her dress in his clutch. He yanked them down, causing Abby to sharply exhale. 

He started meticulously pulling her dress down and all Abby could think about was how they should have done this  _ years  _ ago. 

She anchored herself to him with her legs, starting to tug his jacket off his shoulders. When it proved to be more difficult than she thought, he gave her a hand by furiously ripping off the garment himself, discarding it to the floor and clamping his mouth hotly on hers again. He encircled her wrist, pinioning it against the wall as his other hand returned to his diligent work. 

He looked down at her body in awe as more and more of it was uncovered before his eyes. Their gazes met, and for the briefest moment, the look in his eyes made her question what this was about. Were they just blowing off steam? Getting all this frustration out of their systems? Or was he...?

She soon had her breast in the cradle of his palm and her thoughts fled away. Abby could only helplessly moan as he kneaded her flesh, feeling the hard jut between his legs insistently pressing against her abdomen.  _ This was really happening _ . Her boss was going to take her against the door and she didn't have even the faintest beginning of an objection in her mind.

Marcus moved the attention of his mouth to her neck, punishingly laving at the treacherous mark already left there. Abby released a gasp, her eyes flying open as he grazed her skin with his teeth.

They stayed open. She stared at the bulge of his breast pocket, just a few inches away from her face. His phone was right  _ there _ .

She sighed and closed her eyes once more as Kane nibbled at her collarbone but opened them immediately again to fix her gaze at her salvation.

It felt a little nonsensical to worry about her boss finding out about her sexual fantasies involving him when he was currently rutting her against his office door. However, no matter how much he wanted to fuck her, he'd always have a bigger boner for company policies, and she had definitely violated at least dozen of those with her little ventures these past few months. He would be  _ obligated  _ to fire her if he found out.

She ground her hips against his as a distraction, causing Kane to let a strangled groan. He sank his face on the crook of her neck, panting against her skin, but he was still massaging her breast, teasing her nipple into a hard peak with the rough strokes of his thumb which significantly hampered Abby's attempts to maneuver his phone out of his pocket. Finally, it slipped smoothly out. She only needed to unlock it now.

He only woke up from his trance when Abby roughly snatched his hand from her breast and pressed his thumb against the home button.

Kane' eyes snapped open and widened in horror when he saw his phone in Abby's hand. She was already scampering a few steps back, her haul tight in her clutch.

He made a dash for it, trying to grab Abby who swiftly evaded his hands. "Give me that back!"

After running to the other side of the room, she lifted her hand in a warning.

"Put your hands on me and HR will be the first place where I march after this."

She supposed she couldn't make a waterproof assault case against a man with rumpled clothing and lips red and swollen from her kisses, but she also knew she wouldn't have to bother with that. As much Kane was a dick, he was not a violent one.

The man had gone completely pale in less than a second. 

"What are you doing with it?"

There was desperation in his eyes Abby had never seen before. He  _ really  _ didn't want her to have his phone.

"As I told you, I just need to delete that email."

"Just hand me my phone and I'll give you the password to my computer. Hell, take the whole laptop. Just let me have it back."

Abby rolled her eyes. "This will only take two seconds," She found his email app quickly and started scrolling down. He had a frustrating amount of messages in his inbox, causing the process to take longer than she thought.

Abby glanced up at the man while she scrolled. His whole body was petrified on the spot. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes closed. It was as if he was bracing for an impact.

By the time she had deleted the email and removed it from his trash can as well, he’d opened his eyes and was staring dully off at nothing. His jaw was clenched. 

”I can explain.” His voice was measured and even, if just a hint weak.

"Explain what?" she asked, handing the phone back to him.

Dumbfounded, Kane stared at his phone now safely back on his palm.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" she asked wryly. Kane lifted his gaze again. ”What were you afraid of? Did you think I was going to check what kind of porn you were into?”

If looks could kill, she would already be six feet under.

She suddenly felt very self-conscious standing in front of him with her dress bundled around her waist. It felt hardly appropriate for the tense situation. She covered her bare chest with her arms.

Despite the fury etched into his features, he was hard to take seriously at the moment. Abby had completely mussed up his hair, he was flushed and panting, and his shirt was rumpled beyond salvaging. He was far from the usual pristine and collected Kane. 

His jaw finally slackened, and he relaxed his posture. He was obviously still hard and was looking at her with dark, hooded eyes, making her unsure whether he wanted to continue where they left off or throw her out.

When Abby hugged herself tighter under his scrutiny, he quickly evaded her eyes. In fact, he turned his whole body away from her.

"Put that dress back on and make yourself presentable," he commanded with a colorless voice. Wanting to salvage the last shreds of her dignity, she fixed the dress on her, tossed back her head and headed to the door.

Before she could march out, however, Kane grabbed her shoulder.

"I owe you an apology. That was beyond unprofessional and will  _ never  _ happen again." He looked guiltily away. "I need you to know that if I single you out in the future for any disciplinary reasons, or if you were to receive a promotion, it won't have anything to do with... what happened just now.”

Abby gave a little snigger at that to which Kane lifted a curious brow.

”I know for a fact that you wouldn't promote me even if this became a daily occurrence."

He looked at her blankly.

"That’s not funny.”

To that Abby gave an evasive shrug. "Maybe not to you."

She walked to the door, but turned and gave him a half-hearted smirk before leaving. 

"I guess I'll see you on Monday then."

She then slipped out like a coward, a hollow feeling swelling in her chest that she'd screwed up something important.

* * *

The second Abby had left, Marcus buried his head in his hands. That had been close. Too close.

Inside, he was in disarray. His heart was slamming against his ribs with a shattering force, every part of his body still aflame and ravenous for what could have been. His cock was aching. Molten pleasure continued to pulse through him at the memory of her warm body in his arms, her sweet lips against his. He'd gotten to feel her hot bare skin underneath his hands. 

He'd gotten to see her and finally hold her breast in his hand. Her beautiful, soft, creamy breast whose fullness he'd envisioned countless of times in the cradle of palm. All of his dreams had finally come true only to be ripped apart in a matter of minutes.

She was a vixen. That was probably why he'd been attracted to her in the first place, but it didn't fare well for his heart in the long run.  _ Of course _ , she had only kissed him back to trick him. There was no world where Abby Griffin would accept his advances out of her free will. It had been vile to go for her like that in the first place. 

He wished he could put it all on some ulterior force that had taken over him at the sight of her dark, defiant eyes. If he was a lesser man, he would blame her for her perfect red lips that couldn't stop moving, provoking and tormenting him until the very last vestiges of his self-control had crumbled away. But the fact was that he'd known exactly what he was doing. He'd longed for a kiss from her as long as he could remember, so he took it like the greedy, selfish man he was as the opportunity presented itself.

He liked to think she wanted him back in some capacity. She simply couldn't conjure up all those fantasies from  _ nothing _ . But whatever attraction there was from her part couldn't be enough to override her hatred for him.

He  _ should  _ reciprocate that feeling, or at least, he'd like to go back to the time where he admired her from afar and only occasionally thought about her perfect little body as he pumped his cock in the shower.

The reality was much different today.

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He didn't remember the last time he'd shaved. He only lived for the next glimpse of her at work or a new message after hours. No one else mattered but her, not even himself. It was the cruelest form of torture mankind has ever passed on themselves.

It suddenly made perfect sense why people in love were so prone to throwing themselves off cliffs in works of fiction.

His phone vibrated. Out of instinct, he dug it up from his pocket and stared at the screen through the blur of emotions raging inside him.

_ -> I thought you’d be happy to know I almost managed to fuck my boss _

_ Managed? _

This was really just some game for her, a series of dares to complete to pump her full of the adrenaline she craved. But he supposed he could only blame himself. He’d set up the board and had been holding all the pieces. She’d only done what was wanted of her and as his karmic punishment, he’d fallen for her.

He'd known from the start that getting to know her better was a bad idea. Every new detail he learned about her, from her favorite flower to what she sang in the shower was only fuel to his suffering. 

This much he knew – She was smart as a whip and far more capable than for her position at the company. She had such a delightful, dry sense of humor it sometimes made even him quickly retreat before cracking a smile. She was the kindest, most selfless person he knew. She called her daughter every Sunday and Wednesday, never ate the entree before the side, knew every line from The Goonies, and broke the ice with the new interns by pulling a good-natured prank on him every summer, and he supposed he'd loved her right from the start because he'd never had the heart to put a stop to it. 

She deserved so much better than him, and this whole affair had been just some masochistic trip to prove himself right. 

Perhaps he couldn't save his soul anymore, but he could still save Abby from himself. He'd hate himself for the rest of his life he took this even one step further.

_ -> I can’t do this anymore _

He stared at his message, rubbing his face before finally sending it before he could change his mind.  _ It was done. _

This would hurt like a bitch for a while, but it was for the best. Who knew, maybe this was a turning point in his life. If he began acting like an actual human being with a moral backbone, Abby could eventually stop scowling at him the moment he entered the room. After all, he'd managed to actually make her like his other self. 

_ They could eventually be friends. _ The thought was the only thing keeping him going at this moment.

He pocketed his phone and stepped out of his office. Time to be the effective leader again. 

As he approached the people he'd left earlier to check why Abby had sneaked into his office, he plastered on his most superficial smile. ”Sorry for leaving you hanging for a second. Had to take care of some things.”

”You didn’t miss a thing. I was just telling Mr. Jeffords that with the promising new figures for the next year, we could..."

His voice soon became white noise, but Marcus still kept nodding and chuckling at all the right places even though his mind was miles away. Particularly, on one beautiful, petite woman probably on her way home right now.

As if summoned, his phone started ringing in his pocket. He always had the sound turned on in order not to miss a single important call. The noise was enough to attract some irritated looks from the people nearby. He lifted his finger in an apology and dug it up to check the caller ID.

It was Abby.

She was probably hounding after the reason why she'd been ditched with a single message. He declined the call.

_ I'm trying to let you go. Please don't make this any harder than it needs to be. _

He was just about to push his phone back into his breast pocket when it immediately started ringing again. Marcus frowned. He hadn't realized she'd been so attached to their arrangement to be this desperate for an explanation. He hung up again.

"I'm sorry, where were we?” he said, turning back to the two men.

But his gaze didn't fall on them. Instead, it shot past the crowd to the woman standing in the middle of the room, just ten feet away from them. 

His blood ran cold.

She was staring right at him with wide, dazed eyes. She was clutching her purse against her chest, her whole body stiff and rigid like a statue. Her lips slowly parted in horror.

She was holding a phone over her ear. 

The phone in Marcus' pocket started loudly ringing again, but this time, he didn't reach for it.


	6. Chapter 6

For a long moment – an eternity – they simply stared at one another. The hand with which Abby was holding her phone to her ear dropped slowly. Marcus’ own phone stopped ringing, and even though the sounds of the office continued around them, the sudden absence of that particular noise was almost deafening.

Abruptly, Abby turned and started to walk away.

Marcus felt as if he were caught in a nightmare – one of those where you desperately needed to move but remained rooted to the spot. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl; his limbs felt as though they were moving through treacle as he finally started after her.

“Abby...”

She ignored him. She sped up, walking away with her high heels clacking sharply with every swift step. Marcus followed her at something approaching a jog, utterly oblivious to the confused questions of the men he had been talking to.

“Abby!” He raised his voice, calling after her. He had no idea what he was going to say, he only knew that he had to make her stop, make her stay, somehow explain...

And now she was running, and Marcus was running too, faster and faster through the corridors, ignoring the scandalized looks of the people he passed, for once in his life not giving a damn what people thought about him.

“Abby, wait!”

She reached the elevator and the doors closed before he could do anything more than catch a glimpse of her white, blank face.

_ The stairs. _

Marcus took them two at a time, down floor after floor, feet clattering and sliding on the sharp turns. Twenty floors up. He hadn’t a chance of beating the elevator, even if it stopped to let others on as it descended, but his thoughts weren’t exactly running along rational lines. He was gasping for breath, his heart pounding painfully in his chest as he finally reached the lobby of the building and sprinted towards the front doors. The security guard gave him a startled look as he passed, but made no effort to stop him – someone running full tilt  _ out  _ of the building wasn’t so much a problem.

Marcus made it out onto the street to find it was pouring with rain. He was soaked in moments, half blinded. Staring around wildly, he tripped over something at his feet and stumbled, only just stopping himself from falling. When he looked down, he saw a pair of small black high heeled shoes, kicked off hastily and lying half in a puddle on the sidewalk.

_ Cinderella _ , Marcus thought with a kind of bleak giddiness that was almost hysteria. He thought of Abby running along the filthy city streets, barefoot in her cocktail dress in the driving rain. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? What would she  _ do? _

Come to that, what the hell should  _ he _ do? Abby knew everything; any attempt he might have made to hide the truth had been rendered entirely futile by his reaction to her swift exit. She  _ knew _ , and she knew that he knew as well. Every supposedly anonymous conversation they’d had, every interaction, every game they’d played together...they all must be running through her mind right now, as they were his. Every dirty little fantasy. Every intimate secret. Every part of themselves they had laid bare to each other, in ways both literal and otherwise.

And her reaction had been to run from him.

Marcus stood there, rain soaking into his clothes, plastering his hair to his head, panic giving way to a dull sense of resignation. He knew her address. He could go there to find her, try to explain...but no. Abby hadn’t really given that address to him, had she? She had given it to the man she’d thought he was. And what would he even say?

_ I’m no Prince Charming. I’m not the person who can rescue her from her lonely life and give her everything she always wanted. I’m the man who she runs from the very thought of being with. _

But even though Marcus knew he’d never be the one with the happy ending, walking off into the sunset hand in hand with the woman he loved, he’d still wanted to be the good guy for  _ once _ . He’d tried to do the right thing, and this was the result. He was an idiot to think he could ever be allowed to have someone like Abby Griffin in his life, even as a friend.

It had barely been ten minutes ago that he’d had her pinned up against the door of his office, her soft lips crushed beneath his, her breathy sighs mingled sweetly with the taste of brandy on his tongue. He had  _ felt  _ their need for each other, the lust that crackled between them whenever they were close, flaring into a supernova as their bodies collided, skin on skin, hot and hungry and perfect. She had wanted him and _ fuck _ he had been so close to having her. Just a taste of her had been paradise.

Marcus didn’t want to be friends with Abby. He didn’t want to be friends with her so badly it shook him to his core.

He should go back into the office. The party tonight was important. Marcus needed to be there, was  _ expected _ to be there. There were people he needed to meet, people who could make or break his career.

He walked away into the freezing rain.

* * *

It was a week before the letter arrived. Abby had spent the entire time in her apartment.

She hadn’t cried. She had been very careful about that. At first there had been nothing at all but shock, pure and devastating, and after that she held onto the hard knot of anger in her chest like a lifeline, nursing it, letting it consume her and wipe out any other emotion.

Like hell was she going to break down for  _ him. _ She might be humiliated, confused, wretched, but she would not be heartbroken. Not for him. She would be furious at him instead, because she could understand that, she could handle that. She  _ knew  _ how to be furious at Marcus Kane. She had turned hating him into a fine art.

The first thing Abby had done when she’d gotten back to the sanctuary of her place was to type her resignation for work, her hands shaking –  _ anger _ , she told herself,  _ shaking with rage _ – as she formed the bland, meaningless sentences that would be sent to HR. The usual trite words about ‘appreciating the experience’ and ‘time to move on to new challenges’. New challenges. Ha. As if this job hadn’t given her more than enough of those.

She had typed the email still soaked to the skin and barefoot, her ridiculous little red dress clinging to her icy skin, her hair hanging in sodden ropes around her face. So maybe it was the cold as much as the anger that had made her tremble all over. She had hesitated for only a moment before sending; she had many times been warned of her own impulsive nature, and had long ago learned that it was a bad idea to make any big decisions in the heat of the moment, before at least sleeping on them.

Then she thought of Kane’s face, and sent the email anyway. There were no circumstances under which she’d ever go back there.

After that, she got undressed and went to bed, but she didn’t sleep. Instead she spent hours reading through the messages that had passed between them, again and again, trying to find any clue, to understand how she could possibly have missed what her anonymous ‘friend’ was keeping from her. And she almost began to see it; the effortless confidence, the attention to detail, the pleasure taken in being wholly in control...the ways she could see that this might indeed be what Marcus Kane would be like in a sexual relationship. The things that – thought she hated to admit it even to herself – had always attracted her to him physically. The things that she had fantasized about, when she had wondered what it would be like...

But it was the other messages that were impossible to reconcile.

The ones where he talked about music, about books, about his favorite place to eat that his mom had always taken him to as a kid. He had never revealed anything personal enough that might hint at his identity – which had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, given their understanding – but she couldn’t believe every word was a lie. She couldn’t believe that even Kane could be so cruel. Even aside from that, she couldn’t believe that he would waste so much time and effort concocting an entirely fictitious persona just to...what? What could his end goal possibly have been? To fuck her? He’d had his chance that night at the bar, and turned it down. He hadn’t even thought her worth that. Even after they had made out in his office he had immediately sent her a message to break the whole thing off. So maybe the fantasy was all he’d wanted all along.

_ And ‘making out’ isn’t exactly a strong enough term, _ an inner voice mocked her,  _ for his hand on your bare breast and his dick grinding hard against you, his breath panting into your mouth... _

Abby squirmed, remembering it, feeling the familiar flush of arousal. But she wouldn’t think about that. She would hold onto the anger.

What were even worse to read were the messages she had sent  _ him. _ The things she had told him, unknowing. The parts of herself that she had shared with no-one else, her heart laid bare for Kane’s calculated inspection. God, how he must have been laughing at her. And yet somehow he had never made her feel as though those conversations were a waste of time, or just a means to an end. He had made her feel bold, sexy, confident, but he had also made her feel...

She found the message she was looking for, under the last photo she had sent him, and stared at it for a long time.

_ -> Pretty _

It was unimaginable. The Kane she knew, the man she had worked with for years...he had often looked at her as though he wanted to personally pick her up and throw her out of the nearest window. He had  _ also _ sometimes looked at her as though he wanted to bend her over his desk and fuck her brains out – and oh god he’d  _ said _ that, hadn’t he? After that meeting when she’d come in front of him without him knowing, but of course he  _ had _ known, he had known all of it and  _ enjoyed  _ it.

She could believe those things. She could understand them. But she could not make herself believe the idea of a Marcus Kane who would look at a picture of her, scruffy and hung-over and cocooned in her bed, and think she was  _ pretty. _

She couldn’t imagine a Marcus Kane who genuinely liked her.

Abby felt tears gathering in her eyes, and once it had started there was no stopping it, and suddenly she was curled up on her bed sobbing like a child. So alright, she had cried, that first night. But just that once.

The rest of the week hadn’t been much better. Abby hadn’t felt like this since Jake died – and  _ that _ thought sent a spike of guilt through her that was more painful than anything else. She shouldn’t… the two situations weren’t in any way comparable, but she still felt that hollow feeling of loss, of feeling being horribly alone, as though some vital part of herself had been ripped away. She had no idea how to go back to her life after this, and so she was stuck in a kind of miserable limbo, hiding out in her apartment like a coward, wallowing in self pity and alternating hourly between anger at having been deceived for so long and the shameful, guilty desire that she could have been deceived just a _ little _ longer. It had felt so good to be wanted, to be needed, to be desired and _ feel _ desirable. The thought of having to go back to the way her life had been before – with nothing but work, sleeping alone, and an endless parade of Thelonius Jahas to go on disappointing dates with to look forward to – was miserable.

And then the letter came.

It wasn’t hand delivered; it came with the rest of her mail, shoved under her door by her thoughtful elderly next door neighbor, who always got it out of her mailbox downstairs for her when he collected his own. Abby didn’t recognize the handwriting on the address, so it didn’t occur to her not to read it until she had already started, and realized who it was from.

After all, why should the writing be familiar to her? She had never seen him write anything out longhand. He was always tapping away at various keyboards and screens at lightning speed; the idea of him sitting down to write a letter with actual pen and paper was bizarre. Just one more thing she found it impossible to imagine of Kane.

_ Abby, _

_ I’m sure you’ll have blocked my number on your cell by now, and my email too. I thought about coming round to see you in person – I must have gotten into my car a dozen times – but I won’t betray your trust like that. Maybe you’ll destroy this letter unread too, but I’m counting on your curiosity to not let you do that. I have to hope. _

_ I’ve intercepted your resignation. I know it’s underhanded, but at this point there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see you again. Just one last time, if that’s what it has to be. And I can’t let you lose your job over this. Everyone at work has been told you’re off sick with the flu. _

_ What I want to say needs to be said in person. I’ll be in the park around the corner from our office building, every day from 6pm. I’ll wait for you there until you show up. _

_ Yours, _

_ Marcus Kane _

* * *

Marcus had expected Abby to make him wait at least days, if not weeks, until she came to meet him. He would have accepted it willingly; even the small petty punishment of having to sit in a cold park for hours every day would have come as a relief to ease the guilt he felt.

But she turned up on the very first evening, the day after his letter must have reached her. And the moment he saw her approaching, he realized that he should never have expected anything else from her – Abby Griffin didn’t run from anything. Not really.

He had been sitting on the wrought iron bench for barely fifteen minutes, watching the pigeons without really seeing them, lost in his own thoughts, when her approaching footsteps made him look up. Abby was bundled up against the cold; her hands thrust into the pockets of a long gray wool coat, a red scarf wrapped several times around her neck. Her hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders in soft honey brown waves, lit golden by the setting sun.

She looked so breathtakingly, painfully beautiful that some small, absurd part of him wondered if she was somehow doing it on purpose, as some kind of studied retribution.

She sat down next to him, as far away as the small bench would allow. It was a gesture of such obviously deliberate boldness, a metaphorical throwing down of the gauntlet that sent a sharp pang of affection through his chest. She might as well have said it out loud:  _ your move. _

“I’m glad you came,” Marcus said. “I knew you would.”

“I always did everything you asked, didn’t I?” said Abby. There was a bitter note in her voice that she didn’t trouble to conceal. Marcus winced. He had thought again and again about what he would say to her if he got the chance to speak to her again, rehearsed this moment more times than he could count, but now...all the words seemed to have deserted him in the face of the coldness in Abby’s voice, the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. When Marcus opened his mouth again all that came out was:

“I missed you.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He saw Abby visibly stiffen. “Don’t,” she said sharply. “You don’t get to say that.”

“It’s the truth. I don’t just mean seeing you at work, I mean I missed talking to you as well.”

“We never  _ talked _ , Kane.”

That hurt. “We did, Abby,” he said. “For hours. About everything and anything.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It counted to me.”

She still wasn’t looking at him. She was staring out across the park as though she were trying to pretend he wasn’t here at all. Or maybe just wishing he wasn’t.

“You know the worst part?” she said. “Aside from the fact that you lied to me and humiliated me? It’s that I was actually starting to think that just maybe you weren’t such a bad person after all. That maybe the whole ‘asshole boss’ thing was just a front, and outside of work there might still be a spark of decency in you. But it turns out you’re just asshole all the way down. Right to the core.”

“And the messages?” Marcus said quietly. “The other me, the one who  _ wasn’t _ your asshole boss...what did you think of him?”

Abby shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

_ It matters to me. _ He wanted to say it, but stopped himself. He wasn’t here to argue with her. If he had this one chance to explain himself, he had to get it right.

But before he could speak, Abby suddenly turned to face him, her eyes steely. “You were trying to break it off with me,” she said. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” he said softly.

“I’m not in the mood for games, Kane,” she said. “You wanted to talk, so talk. You started this. You didn’t walk away when you should have. So why stop now? Did you suddenly develop a conscience? Or did you just get sick of keeping all the lies straight?”

“I didn’t lie to you, Abby. I meant every word I said to you. I acted the same way I would have if you really had just been another anonymous stranger.”

“Great, good to know I’m nothing special.”

“I didn’t say that. I’d never say that.” Now he was the one having trouble meeting her eyes. He was so used to sparring with Abby, or else having the safety of a screen between the two of them. Her accusing, unwavering gaze was so intense he almost wished she would look away again. “I didn’t try to break things off because I wanted it to stop, Abby,” he said. “I did it because I knew it wasn’t what I wanted anymore. Because I wanted...I  _ needed _ more.”

Abby let out a hollow laugh. “You really expect me to want to fuck you after this?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I expect you to never want to see me again. But I _ hope  _ that once you’ve stopped being angry you’ll realize how good we were together. How good we could be.”

“We were never  _ together _ , Kane.”

“Marcus.”

She turned from him abruptly, the anger returning. “Oh, don’t even  _ try  _ to—”

“I’m not trying to do anything. I swear. I’m not asking for anything from you Abby. I just...I need you to understand.  _ Please _ .”

“ _ Understand? _ How could you do this to me? I thought—” She broke off suddenly.

Marcus felt his heart clench in his chest. “You thought what?”

“That we were friends,” said Abby. “Not you and me, but...the person you pretended to be...I thought he was...”

“I wasn’t pretending,” said Marcus. “I told you, I meant every word.”

But Abby was already shaking her head. “I wish I could believe that.”

He was getting nowhere. She wouldn’t give an inch, not the barest benefit of the doubt. And Marcus suddenly felt a flicker of anger at that part of Abby that always infuriated him, the way she was so  _ sure _ of everything, always thought she was in the right...

“You don’t want to admit that you were wrong about me,” he said, and his voice sounded a little bitter even to his own ears. “That I could ever be anything more than the person  _ you’d _ already decided I was.”

Even as he said it he felt the injustice well up inside him, and he couldn’t stop himself from continuing:

“You want to play the victim but the truth is you _ liked _ it. Everything we did you signed up for willingly and you liked it as much as I did. You just hate that it was me who made you feel that way. Because we had something, Abby, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Abby stood up from the bench abruptly. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“Just tell me one thing,” Marcus said. “Was it really just about sex, for you? I know that’s how it started but was that really all it  _ ever _ was, in the end? Tell me honestly that it was never anything more than a game to you and I’ll believe you. Tell me you felt nothing.”

Abby glared at him. “Whatever I felt,” she said. “Whatever I  _ thought _ I felt...it wasn’t real. It was for someone who didn’t exist. Not for  _ you _ .”

She could not have put more disgust into the last word if she had spat at his feet. She was, in some strange way, breathtaking in her detestation, her lips curling, her dark eyes flashing. A goddess of vengeance. Marcus held her gaze for a long moment, feeling his anger drain away as quickly as it had come, leaving a blank hollow space inside him as he absorbed her words, the truth he’d truly known all along.

“It was only ever me, Abby,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have been someone else for you. Someone better.”

Abby didn’t reply. He had no idea what she was feeling in this moment. Was it just anger? Was there any regret at all? He could read nothing from her face.  _ Maybe I don’t know her so well after all. _

“Tell me what to do,” he said quietly. “Please. What can I say to you to make you believe that I’m actually a goddamn human being?”

For the first time, he saw a flicker of something in her eyes that was almost like guilt, a slight softening of the hard, furious glare.

It was the only chance he might have. He had no reason to conceal anything anymore. Nothing else to lose.

“You did everything I asked of you,” he said. “Because deep down, for whatever reason, you trusted me. Because you knew I was someone who would never try to hurt you, who only wanted you to be happy, to take care of you. I told you, didn’t I, right at the start? It’s the sole reason for my existence. I believe that, Abby. I really do. Now more than ever.”

He stood up, facing her down as he had so many times at work over the years. Abby didn’t back away. She never had.

“Trust me one last time,” Marcus said. “Give me another chance. No more hiding, no more games. Just us.”

“And if I say no?” Abby said.

“I’ll walk away. The choice is yours. It always has been.”

She looked up at him defiantly, the wind tugging at little strands of her hair around her face. Her scarf was the same color as that stupidly expensive bra she’d worn that very first day, when he should have called this whole thing off and didn’t. It was the same color as the dress that had nearly driven him crazy with desire, as her lipstick that had smeared on his mouth as he kissed her against the door of his office. For a sudden, violent moment all Marcus could think about was kissing her; the realization that he would never be able to do so again was unbearable. He could see a lifetime of not kissing Abby Griffin rolled out before him like endless purgatory. Just the thought of it was almost physically painful.

God, if they had only not known each other when this started. If they had only met in the usual way he might have met her, as genuinely anonymous strangers...she might have gotten to know him as the man he  _ wanted  _ to be, not the man he had let himself become. Marcus knew he would still have broken every personal rule he had and begged her to meet with him, and they could have been here today seeing each other for the first time, and he could have told her all the things his clumsy words and his stubborn pride wouldn’t let him say. He could have told her that she had changed everything, that he had never felt this way about anyone in his whole life.

He could have taken her home and made good on every promise he’d made, fucked her again and again until neither of them could remember the world outside, fallen asleep with her in his arms, sated and blissfully happy, and then woken the next morning and started all over again, because he would never ever get tired of being with her, because it would have been so good, the two of them together, so fucking  _ good _ that he could hardly breathe just thinking about it...

And as he waited for Abby to speak, suddenly he knew – he  _ knew _ – that she was thinking of the same thing.

He gazed into her soft, dark eyes, saw the hunger there. Her lips were parted slightly, her cheeks flushed with more than just the cold air. She drew in a soft, shaking breath...

“Go to hell, Kane,” Abby said, with no particular emotion, and turned and walked away.

* * *

After her confrontation with Kane in the park, Abby assumed she would be hearing from the office sooner rather than later about her resignation, so it didn’t come as a surprise when her phone rang a couple of days later. If anything, she was surprised it had taken that long.

But it was a surprise when she heard Charmaine’s voice on the phone.

“Hey Abby, how are you feeling?”

“I...fine.” Of course, she had been off sick. Perhaps Kane had put around the idea that health problems had led to her resignation; it made a certain amount of sense. Abby braced herself for a slew of sympathy and pleas to reconsider and return when she was well enough.

“Abby, I hate to ask you this if you’re still sick,” said Charmaine, “but do you have any idea when you’re going to be able to come back to work? We’re in chaos since Kane left.”

Abby’s brain short circuited for a few seconds. “Left?” she said weakly. “What do you mean,  _ Kane _ left?”

“You don’t know? I thought you would have heard from Sinclair or someone. He resigned. No notice or anything; just handed in his letter and walked out. Kane, I mean. Not Sinclair.”

“He...he can’t have.”

Charmaine gave a humorless laugh on the other end of the line. “Yeah, that was pretty much our reaction too. But he did. It’s been really fucking inconvenient, to put it mildly. Look, I know the flu’s been kicking your ass, but is it possible you could come in for a few half days at least this week? We’re so behind. I can’t believe how much work Kane was actually keeping  _ off _ our backs this whole time.”

“I...yeah, I’ll try,” said Abby, so dazed she couldn’t think of any other response.

“Thank you,” Charmaine sighed. “Look, I know you always hated the guy but you don’t have any idea why Kane quit, do you? It doesn’t seem like him.”

“No, I...I’m sorry,” said Abby. “I don’t know.”

“Well I guess you never really know the people you work with as well as you think,” said Charmaine philosophically. “I’ve got to go. Keeping this place in line is a nightmare; Kane’s replacement can’t come fast enough. See you soon.”

“Yeah...wait, Charmaine?”

“Yeah?” She could hear the impatience in her colleague’s voice, eagerness to get back to work. They must be busy.

“Could you do me a favor and get Raven to call me?” Abby asked.

“The kid from Tech Support? Why?”

“I need to ask her something, that’s all.”

“Sure thing. Whatever gets you back here sooner. Bye Abby.”

A dial tone replaced Charmaine’s voice as Abby continued to hold the phone to her ear, lost in thought.

Marcus Kane’s apartment building was exactly how Abby would have pictured it, if she had ever been inclined to give it a moment’s thought at all before now. It was gray, stern and utterly impersonal, rising amongst a dozen almost identical blocks in the more expensive part of town. She knew she had the address right, thanks to a little help from Raven, who had owed her a favor, but she hadn’t really thought through what she was actually going to do when she got here.

Still, no backing down now. She had to do  _ something. _

She half expected – hoped? – that there would be no response when she got inside and hammered on the door to Kane’s apartment. She had gotten this far on a kind of reckless instinct, her mind wheeling in circles, and the moment the door actually opened and Kane was standing there in front of her was the exact moment she suddenly realized that this might not have been the best idea.

He was wearing an apron. This was sufficiently unexpected that Abby found herself for once at a total loss for words. There was what felt like an endless moment as the two of them simply stood there and stared at each other, and then Kane seemed to collect himself. A kind of careful blankness of expression shuttered his features, and he spoke:

“You’ve heard then,” he said. “Come in.”

He turned and walked back into his apartment, leaving Abby no choice but to follow, still so thrown that she didn’t even think of disobeying. She couldn’t help but give the place a quick once-over as she entered, caught between discomfort and curiosity – somehow she had always vaguely pictured Kane sleeping at the office, in the same way she had always believed when she was a little kid that teachers lived at the school. Of course she knew that he must  _ have _ a home, but it was different seeing it.

It was...nice. A few bookshelves with what looked like well worn books, a few unusual paintings on the wall. Furniture in neutral tones brightened up by the presence of a handful of what looked like real living house plants. A little spartan but not totally impersonal and Jesus Christ why was she mentally rating Kane’s home decor right now, was she out of her  _ mind? _

The man in question untied his apron with a slightly self-conscious air, and draped it over the back of a chair. He was wearing jeans, and a faded gray t-shirt that fit snugly to his frame. Abby realized that an absurd part of her had always thought Kane had been born in a business suit and tie, and the difference was...striking. He just looked like a regular person, though admittedly an annoyingly good looking one. The stubble he had been growing out on his face was now approaching something that might be called a beard, and it was surprising how well it suited him. 

“Excuse me for a minute,” he said. “I need to check some things in the kitchen.”

He did so before she could respond, heading through an open archway into a kitchen area, fiddling with the heat on a pan, stowing things in cupboards. Abby watched him mutely, half wishing once again that she hadn’t come. She had already tried so hard to reconcile two Marcus Kanes in her head. She wasn’t sure she could cope with a third; this strange, almost preternaturally calm man who looked so  _ normal _ , with his unfussy clothes and his air of casual domesticity. She might have thought this was just another role he was playing, but there was something so obviously unaffected by the way he moved around his apartment, as though simply changing his environment had altered him in some fundamental way. It occurred to Abby that she had only twice in her whole life seen Kane out of the office; that night at the bar when he had ordered her home, and the other day in the park.

After the intensity of that last meeting, his reaction to her now seemed bizarrely apathetic. It was as if she were just a friend who had dropped round.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, coming back into the room.

The absurd banality of the question snapped Abby out of her reverie – it was a relief to retreat back into anger, letting it overwhelm her confusion.

“No I don’t want something to drink,” she said sharply. “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing.”

“Making spaghetti carbonara,” said Kane.

“That’s not what I mean!”

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair in a distracted gesture. “I resigned,” he said flatly, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice, a flicker of the Kane she knew that came as almost a relief. “I would have thought that was pretty self explanatory.”

She’d half expected him to deny it, but somehow this careless confirmation was even worse. “But you...you  _ can’t _ have,” Abby said incredulously. “That job is  _ everything _ to you. It’s all you’ve ever fucking cared about!”

There was something then – a brief flicker of something in Kane’s eyes, an infinitesimal pause before he said: “Not anymore.”

All she could do was stare at him. “You really intend to go through with this?” she said. “It’s not just some...” She trailed off, oddly embarrassed to continue her thought. How arrogant of her to think this might be a ploy to get her to see him again. She’d had to pull several strings with Raven just to hack into the mainframe at work and get his address; he had hardly lured her in.

“You made it clear that there was no way we could work together from now on,” Kane said. “Since the blame for that lies with me, it’s obvious I should be the one to step away.”

“But...what...this is ridiculous, what will you  _ do? _ ”

Kane shrugged. “I’ll find another job. In the meantime, I’m taking some time off. I’ve been cooking a lot. Maybe I’ll start going to the gym.”

“You  _ hate  _ taking time off. And you hate the gym!”

The corner of Kane’s mouth lifted slightly. “You remembered,” he said.

Abby felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She had forgotten that was something he’d told her through his messages, not in person. An unexpected conflation of the two Marcus Kanes she knew. And it was easier to see the man she had met through those messages in him now, in this place; she could see the books he had talked about reading lining the bookshelves, she could breathe in the proof of his love of Italian food with every breath.

Her mind drifted suddenly to his other...tastes. The  _ other  _ things she knew that this man liked. The parts of his life he could hardly put out on display but had told her about anyway, without shame, without reserve. Her blush deepened and she shoved the intrusive thoughts away.

“I’ll resign,” she said, striving to remember why she had come here. “Again. You can go back.”

“No, you won’t.” The edge of unquestioned authority that had suddenly crept back into Kane’s voice made some deep part of Abby shiver, even now. “I’ve made my decision, and I stand by it. You should know by now I’m not easily swayed when I’ve made up my mind.”

“But—”

“Thank you,” Kane said. “For coming to see me. I know it can’t have been easy. I’ve thought a lot about what you said, and about my actions throughout this whole situation, and I’ve accepted that your reaction was...understandable. I’m sorry for causing you distress.”

He sounded like an actor reading a script. It was the first time he had ever apologized to her about  _ anything _ , and yet the expected feeling of satisfaction didn’t come. Abby wasn’t sure that she didn’t prefer the usual snide, prickly, permanently ill-tempered Kane over this version, who seemed like he’d just...given up. Where was the fun in fighting him if he’s lost any desire to fight back? And when exactly had she started to think of fighting him as ‘fun’?

“If you’ll excuse me,” said Kane, “I have a lot to do today. Now that you know you can go back to work whenever you want, I hope you will. They’ll need you right now.”

And he turned around and started to walk back towards the kitchen, not even troubling to see that she was leaving, obviously expecting her to simply walk out of his apartment and his life for good without another word. Abby felt the anger rise inside her, cut with sudden, bitter hurt. How  _ dare _ he?

She snapped.

“For fucks sake Kane, for once in your life would you show a fucking emotion!” she snarled.

She saw him stiffen, freeze in place...and then he wheeled round suddenly and strode across the room to tower over her, his eyes blazing. “ _ Marcus _ ,” he corrected fiercely. “I’m not your boss anymore, Abby. I’m not your  _ anything. _ You made that abundantly clear. Which means you don’t get to have an opinion on what I should do, so I don’t even know why you’re here, other than to torment me.”

“I—” The single, choked syllable was all she could manage.

Kane turned away with a noise of frustration that was almost a growl, and started to pace the room like a caged animal, as Abby watched, wide-eyed.

“Do you think this is what I  _ wanted? _ ” he said. “Do you think it’s not driving me crazy thinking about how I won’t get to see you at work every day, won’t get to hear your voice, won’t get to see you glare at me or roll your eyes or get in my face about every stupid little thing—”

He ran both hands through his hair this time, leaving it in disarray, wild with fervor.

“Do you think it’s not tearing me apart knowing how badly I’ve screwed this up, knowing that there’s nothing I can do to fix it?” he said. “Knowing that the best few months of my life have come at the cost of the one thing that made life worth living in the first place? I don’t give a  _ damn _ about the job!”

He strode across the room to her again, and then stopped abruptly, as though he had only restrained himself at the last moment. His dark eyes were agonized, pleading.

“Do you think it’s not torture just to be in the same room as you?” he said, his voice low and desperate. “When all I can think about is...”

“Is what?” Abby breathed. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage. “Is what, Marcus?”

The name slipped out unexpectedly. It was the first time she felt she’d really  _ seen _ Marcus, because the man in front of her, passionate and heaving with emotion, was unrecognizable from the stern, snappish man she’d worked with for so many years.

He closed his eyes. He was breathing very hard.

“Leave,” he murmured. “Abby, you should leave.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore,” she said, and kissed him hard on the mouth.

It was a brash, inelegant thing, but Kane’s reaction was immediate and unrestrained; he moaned into her mouth and pulled her roughly into his arms, crushing her against him, kissing her and kissing her until she could hardly breathe. They stumbled, clumsily entwined, and then he shoved her back against the wall with a soft growl of frustration, pressing her hard against it, his arms wrapped around her in a possessive, iron grip.

_ There he is. _

Because the truth was, the real hell of it was...she had missed him too.

He pulled back suddenly, panting, and Abby heard herself make an instinctive whimper of disappointment. He stared at her, his expression stunned, as though he had acted entirely on instinct and had just now registered what had happened.

“ _ Abby...” _ he sounded almost as if he were in pain. Abby felt arousal coil, hot and low and enticing, deep within her. God, she loved having this effect on him. She always had. She arched her body against him, squirming, pressing her breasts against his firm, muscular chest, grinding her hips against his. Kane let out a strangled moan and bowed his head to bury it in the crook of her shoulder, his breath coming hot and fast against her skin. She could feel his erection pressing against her hip through his jeans and oh she was so  _ wet _ , she was going to go mad with desire, every inch of her body thrumming with need, and she didn’t come here for this, she  _ didn’t _ , but...

She wound her fingers into his thick, soft hair, clutching at him painfully, “I shouldn’t still want you,” she breathed. “I should  _ hate _ you.”

“Then say it,” growled Kane, pressing open mouthed kisses down her neck, his lips soft and eager, worshipping her skin. “Tell me you hate me, Abby.”

She was so turned on she could hardly think. “I don’t even know who you are,” she whispered.

He wrenched himself away and reached up to clasp her face in his hands, caressing her with a kind of violent tenderness. “You know me better than anyone ever has,” he said, and kissed her wildly, deeply, and it was like before and yet utterly different, because he was kissing her with no part of himself held back – there was the heat, the _ hunger _ that she had felt when he’d pushed her up against the door of his office, but there was also the desperation she had seen in his eyes as he’d begged her for another chance...he kissed her with all the raw, unashamed desire she knew him capable of, but she could feel the affection that she had never dreamed was in him, the part of him she had come to understand in the last few months, the part that in spite of herself she  _ trusted. _

He had her pinned against the wall, his body hot and hard against hers, caging her in, and yet Abby realized she had never in her life seen Marcus Kane so vulnerable as in this moment, his mouth demanding and urgent against her own, his hand cupping her breast through her shirt, the hard jut of his cock pressing against her as they ground against each other. Abby felt molten fire rippling through her body, pinching her nipples to tight, tender peaks, making her cunt pulse, wetness soaking her delicate lace panties.

She wanted to tear his clothes off. She wanted to strangle him for making her feel like this. She wanted—

“ _ Please _ ...” she whimpered, squirming, desperate.

Kane kissed the corner of her mouth, his hands moving to caress her waist, her hips, thumbs brushing tantalizingly against her hip bones, at the waistband of her jeans. “Tell me what you want, Abby,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “Tell me why you came here, really. I want to hear you say it.”

“I don’t know,” she breathed. “I don’t know why I came...”

“Yes you do. You don’t run from anything. You don’t back down. You  _ always _ know what you want. It’s what makes you so fucking irresistible.”

Abby felt another flush of hot, aching desire pulse through her body. God, she would never get tired of this feeling; of being looked at like this, touched like this,  _ seen _ like this. Looking into Kane’s eyes now, she could suddenly see him in his office, at his desk, tapping away at the screen of his phone that always seemed glued to his hand, sending her those messages that had made her come alive. Day after day, dedicating himself to her pleasure, telling her over and over how badly he wanted her, tortured by her every vivid fantasy about him...and all this time she’d thought he had  _ her _ wrapped around his finger. When he’d told her, time and time again...

_ He is hard from the moment you walk through the doors. Every second of the day he wants you, but he can't do anything about it. Every single move you make, every wry smile and lilting word that leaves your lips sets his blood on fire. He needs to fuck you so badly he can't breathe, yet he holds himself back. He locks himself in his office or gets out of town just to keep himself away from you. He knows he can't touch you. He knows he can never have you... _

Kane was looking at her as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. Perhaps he did. Perhaps he always had. Abby swallowed hard.

Kane smiled, a dark, dangerous smile. “Let me take care of you,” he said softly, and fuck just  _ hearing _ it in his low, effortlessly sexy voice made Abby quiver. “You know I’ll do anything you ask. You don’t ever have to hold back with me. Tell me what you need, baby.”

“ _ You _ .”


	7. Chapter 7

Not even a fraction of a second after hearing her impossible answer, he surged down to capture her lips.

She released a sweet moan, deepening the kiss instantly.  _ Fuck, Abby. _

He had to be going mad. 

There was no other explanation for this feverish, hallucination-like sight of Abby Griffin with her eyes hooded, panting, flushed from her head to toe in his arms as he kissed and kissed her lips until they were as red as cherry. He was either finally wasting away from the desperate, insatiable desire that he'd been harboring inside him for so long, or, the more impossible option - she was actually here, sighing into his mouth with her delicate little fingers twisted in his hair. 

She wanted him.

She'd walked through that door, wanting him and before that she'd driven here, wanting him and even during those harrowing days of silence and remorse she'd wanted him. He could hear it in her every word, see it from the burning look in her eyes and feel it in the tips of his fingers as he dipped his hand inside her shirt and brushed over her tightened nipples. 

Marcus had a feeling some god he'd unknowingly been praying to while waiting in the park for her had  —  despite everything  —  taken pity on him. He was not going to question the validity of that decision and whether he deserved it or not, not when he was close to getting everything he'd ever wanted.

So like the greedy bastard he was, he didn't let go.

"Marcus," she gasped out as he latched his lips next onto the hollow of her throat. He groaned into her skin as the flames rocketed through his body at the simple pleasure of hearing his name on her lips.

"Yes, keep saying that," he pleaded, nuzzling into her neck. His hands were busy unbuttoning the frustratingly long row of buttons on her shirt. It was close that he didn't tear the damn thing to pieces. 

Her moans turned into whimpers as he roughly kneaded her breasts. Her pulse thrummed like hummingbird's wings under his greedy lips. "Don't you dare stop," he growled.

"Marcus, Marcus, Marcus," sounded the sweet melody of her voice as he hoisted her up on his dining table. Her shirt was finally on the floor, same with the pumps she had kicked off her feet.

She was wearing the same lacy red bra he'd gifted her in the very beginning of their life-shaking affair. His body became solid stone at the realization.

She was breathing hard under his scrutinization, her cheeks gorgeously pink. "Just the first one I grabbed" she stuttered, breathlessly, as his appreciative fingers trailed the lacy red edge, rousing her flushed skin into goosebumps. 

Just the knowledge that she had subconsciously picked something that, in a way, made her his rocked his word.

"You are the devil," he growled.

He wanted to rip her bra off so hard the wiring snapped. He wouldn't care. He'd buy her a new one. He'd buy her more pretty, expensive underwear than she would know what to do with.

But he refrained from doing so in order to confirm one delicious suspicion he had. 

Next, his hands were wrenching her jeans down, just to reveal a pair of matching red panties. His blood was set boiling. This had to be intentional. The vixen had come here just to kill him.

_ Oh, but what a sweet death this would be. _

One swipe of his thumb and desperate plea dripping from her lips revealed her to be soaking wet. He was just about to give into his base instincts and take her right there and then, rough and fast like a man possessed by a beast  — when his fire alarm started blaring.

In an instant, he was ripped back to the reality at the same time as Abby's eyes flew open, and he met her dazed gaze. The sound was deafening.

Fuck. The food.

He wrenched himself off her despite his body's furious protests, and cursed all the way to his kitchen. 

The spaghetti carbonara sauce he'd been preparing had burned crisp black on the bottom of the pan. There was not too much smoke, only a couple of cough's worth as he rushed to turn off the alarm, but it had been just enough to trigger his expensive, carbon monoxide fume -sensitive alarm system.

He had never hated technology more.

After he'd furiously scoured the remains of the sauce into the trash, he closed his eyes, leaned against the wall and drew a handful of deep, calm breaths. 

His cock was still painfully rigid and there was fire flowing through his veins, but there was no telling of how Abby was feeling. For a precious few moments they had been in heady trance, too intoxicated to care about what came after they had fucked on his designer glass table, but now the mood had shattered.

With his rush to the kitchen, he'd probably given her just enough time to clear her head and reconsider. He wouldn't be too surprised if he discovered her hastily digging up her clothing from the floor when he returned.

It would be ironic if he crashed and burned the same way his food had in such a short time, he thought bitterly and braced himself before stepping back into his living room.

She was not there.

He would've guessed she'd somehow managed to sneak out of the apartment without him noticing, if not for the clothing still scattered on his floor. He liked to think he was not so detestable that she'd fled naked though the streets.

"Abby?" he tried weakly.

"Here," came her voice from his bedroom.

His heart quickened. A dizzying feeling of hope and anticipation poured into him as he opened the door and slipped inside.

However, instead of finding her sprawled on the bed waiting for him without a thread of clothing left on her, he saw her standing by his drawer, a pair of panties hanging from the crook of her finger as she studied them.

They were the panties he'd ordered her to slip to her boss in an envelope.

Marcus froze.

He couldn't even blame himself for leaving the pair on full display on top of his drawer. It was as if the universe had meant for her to find them, and it was a good thing she did. How long could he have truly gone with this incredible of a fortune? 

She needed to reflect on whether she truly wanted  _ this _ with a man like him, and he'd give her that. It was better for her to back out sooner rather than later.

"I never realized you might have kept them," she murmured, fingering the soft material. 

"Why wouldn't I have?“

Despite the guilt surging inside him, he still throbbed almost painfully when he thought about the sounds Abby had made that day and recalled the illicit pleasure of having her touch herself just to his liking. Some twisted part of him had wanted, no,  _ needed _ the evidence of her climax to thoughts of him. And like a good girl she was she'd hand-delivered the panties to her boss when it would have been so easy to back out or lie.

In some shape or form, she'd wanted him even then. She'd wanted her boss to find the panties in the envelope and deliciously wonder whether they were from her.

He wished he could regret ordering her to do it, but he couldn't.

"What else do you have of me?“ she asked. 

He had not gone down enough in this abyss to lose his conscience. He showed her  _ everything _ . Every wicked memento was laid before her eyes, from the torturous picture of her cradling her bare breast in her hand to the recordings of her pleasuring herself he'd treasured like precious stones.

She pressed play, and at once the delicious, now so familiar sounds filled the air.

Marcus couldn't read her expression as she listened to herself coming. Her face had gone completely blank.

He expected her to throw the phone away any minute now, call him a pig, a beast, a power-tripping maniac and braced for the blow. 

The recording finally died down, and silence flooded the room. Resigned, he began.

"I will naturally delete absolutely everything and give you back the —" 

"Play it again."

He couldn't believe his ears. "What?“

She turned to him. Her eyes were dark, but not from anger as he now realized. 

"Play it again."

Her voice was thick from unabashed arousal, her breathing shallow. Her chest was flushed, and Marcus could almost hear her heart racing furiously as she watched him with her dilated gaze.

A yolt so powerful shot to his groin that it almost knocked the breath out of his lungs.

He'd never been harder in his life as he pressed play.

Together, they listened to her fall apart again. She closed her eyes, almost as if bringing herself back to the pleasure she'd inflicted on herself. Marcus had taken the liberty to rest his hand on her bare thigh as she concentrated on her own voice, making her shiver with the featherlight caress of his fingers. 

She liked it. She liked it a lot, judging by her increasingly shortening exhales.

"Did you stroke yourself to this?" she suddenly whispered. She inched her hand towards his erection, still caged by his trousers. "How often did you make yourself hard with my pictures and these recordings?"

His answer was a pained hiss as Abby ran a light finger over his aching length.

"You jerked off at work too, didn't you?" she asked, her eyes flashing with a realization. "Your door was always locked."

"How are you surprised?" he rasped out, clenching his eyes shut at her ministrations.

Only the ghost of her grip was left to torment him the next time she spoke. Her words were sultry, intoxicated by the shift of control.

"Marcus Kane, the award-winning executive, always so composed and steely-nerved, pumping his cock in his office whenever he got the chance. No wonder you were always so tightly wound, you must have been hard and aching from your dirty little secret around the clock…"

Her fingers were dancing on his thigh now, every brush of them like an injection of hellfire. He couldn't take it anymore. He leaned in, trying to capture her lips, seize her waist with his broad hand to sate his maddening hunger. But she pushed his hand away, stopped his mouth with her thumb.

"You wanted me so fucking bad," she murmured as she would a law of nature. An absolute truth.

"Yes," he could but confess, breathless.

She rose on her knees on the bed. Her golden brown hair tumbled down on her chest, its tips teasing the delicious red edges of her bra. Even with only the lacy lingerie on, she looked like a queen, a sorceress, the sovereign ruler of his heart. He was afraid to move  — he felt as if the tiniest motion would dispel this majestic creature. 

"Oh Marcus, how tortured you must have been. How could just a few pictures and bite-sized sound clips come even close to the real thing?"

She settled to lounge on the bed right in front of him, just out of reach. To add to the torture, she began toying with the clasp of her bra. A front closing bra  — A devil's invention. 

"I'm waiting," she purred, her fingers still lazily dancing on the red bow above the clasp. " _ Sir _ . 

His lungs deflated as if by punch to his stomach when he realized what she was doing. 

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _

He had to be in heaven  — or hell, depending on whether she was going to follow through with this or not. This was too agonizing not to be true. 

His voice was hoarser than he would've liked as he issued his first command. 

"Take it off."

"Of course, Sir."

The words made his cock jerk like a living thing. With one deft motion, the bra was open and fallen on the sheets. 

He almost forgot what he was doing as he stared down at her bare, heaving breasts. He longed for nothing more than to take her perfect rosy nipple between his lips, devour her like he'd dreamed of during countless and countless meetings with her in those ridiculously low-cut blouses  — but he had to focus. 

With his jaw rigid, his voice lowered to a dangerous rasp, he assumed the reins she'd freely handed him.

"Touch yourself."

One graceful finger slipped inside her panties. 

He released the breath he'd been holding at the same time her lips parted in a gasp. 

"Good girl."

This was Abby Griffin as he'd learned to know her during these past few glorious months. It might have been paradoxical that the stubborn little minx who wouldn't do anything he told her at work would turn into this submissive servant, eager to comply and please his most base needs, but he knew how it all truly was. 

Even as she teased her clit, caressed her body and pinched her nipples to his exact instructions, she was perfectly in control. She was the one who could stop any moment now, and he would be left gasping like a fish on dry land, utterly powerless just as if he would have been if she'd stopped replying to his texts.

He knew the thought turned her unbearably on. He knew her perfectly, just as she knew how her sweet compliance got him higher than any drug in the world. 

They were pure fucking magic together. 

Just as she was nearing her edge, he ordered her to stop with a rough bark. 

She let out a disappointed whimper as she lifted her hand off the sheer fabric, damp and glued to her skin. 

"Take those off. Show me how wet you are." 

She did just as told, dragging the panties down her long with a torturous slowness. With laboured breath, he studied the damp honey-brown curls above her glistening sex. He was gladder than ever in his life that he'd never been granted a view to this part of her before. It was as if uncovering a breathtaking, long-sought treasure.

Some thin thread of the willpower he still had left in him snapped in half. 

"Come here, baby. Come to me," he beckoned desperately. 

She moved closer, settling astride on his lap. In an instant, he had her captured in her arms. He lifted her fingers to his lips and tasted them. He closed his eyes, licking each digit clean as she shivered in his arms, her breathing still rapid and uneven. 

Savouring the perfect, caramel-tart taste of her he sighed and spoke again. 

"I have wanted to do that ever since I almost caught you in the act. No,  _ wanted _ is an understatement. You have no fucking idea how I burned in my office, every inch of me jealous of your fingers almost to the point of rage."

Her eyes shone from arousal. 

"But you were there. In my mind, you were." 

He shook his head. "No, you don't understand. As you said, the taste was not enough.  _ I _ wanted to be the cause of those sounds, not the anonymous person you were picturing in your mind."

"But that is what I'm saying. It was  _ you _ ." 

"What do you mean?"

"It was you. I pictured my boss when I touched myself, even when I was not masturbating on your command. In the end, it was the only thing that could get me off. I dreamed of you fucking me. Every. Single. Time."

"Even in the conference room?“ he breathed out. Three times, she'd come under his eyes. The memory was already unbearable enough. 

"I wanted you to hitch up my skirt and push me against the window. I would beg and beg until you fucked me so hard I saw stars and promised I'd never not pay attention in a meeting again."

"Believe me, I would have wanted nothing more," he rasped out. "It was all I could think about."

"Some days I just wanted to march into your office, rip your clothes off and ride you until we both forgot our own names." 

Beads of sweat were gathering on the back of his neck. "God, Abby..."

"That night you came into the bar, I would have done anything you told me to. I would have followed you to the bathroom just by one beckoning finger. You could have torn that dress off me, tie my hands to the sink and then leave me naked and quivering with need just to go finish your drink first."

Marcus gripped her thighs, his fingertips digging deep enough to leave a mark. She gasped out, a victorious smile flickering across her lips. 

"If you keep on going like this, I cannot promise to be gentle," he growled. 

"Who said I wanted it gentle?“

There was a second of silence before he let out his low, chilling order. 

"Unbuckle my belt."

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted in a breathless acceptance as she lowered her hands on the buckle of his belt and began her diligent work. 

"Do you want to know what was in that email I deleted from your phone?" She edged him on as she slowly, torturously, slid off the belt. "Just before you fucked me against the door of your office."

"I have a feeling it was not the expense reports I asked for," he rasped out. "Slide my jeans down now, nice and easy." 

"I sent you what exactly I wanted my boss to do to me. Not on purpose. At least, that much I believed. Maybe there was a part of me that  _ wanted _ you to know."

"Tell me."

"I wanted you to torture me, not allow me to come until I promised to be only yours."

Marcus' heart gave a tiny treacherous leap at that. 

"And did you? Submit in your fantasy, I mean," he asked hoarsely. 

"Only after you ate me out against my office wall until I was a sobbing, incoherent mess-" 

She didn't get to finish before Marcus had pushed her down, pinning her against the mattress from her waist. He locked her knees underneath his body weight. Her eyes widened like a deer's who had strayed on a dangerous path. 

"Like this?" he asked, and dipped his head between her thighs. 

* * *

Abby almost screamed when his lips made contact with her clit. The first lazy suck, peppered with a flicker of rough tongue on the underside of her sensitive, drenched bud of nerves blinded her with pleasure. 

It was the scruff. It was definitely the scruff. Every bristle teased the most sensitive parts of her in a way she'd never experienced before. It was  _ exquisite _ .

She stifled the nagging voice at the back of her mind, asking exactly what decisions had brought her here, pinned down and being eaten out by her boss. She was not about to act holier than thou with herself. 

Yes, she was going to fuck Kane. Yes, that was what she'd always wanted. Yes, she'd probably regret this later.

That didn't mean she wouldn't do it  — and enjoy every sweet second while she was at it. 

She had to hold back her tears when his whiskers glided down. It had to be an eternity since the last time, or he was really  _ that _ good. Every little motion of his mouth was like a brush stroke in a masterpiece. 

Some stubborn part of her didn't want to give his ego the boost of her sobbing out like her body yearned to. 

But then his tongue circled her clit only to drift on a torturous detour, down and down until it dipped past the lips of her sex. 

The promise of being filled was too irresistible. She bucked against his tongue. 

He lifted his head. "Greedy." 

"Just fuck me, Kane. Take me, you have wanted it long enough — Ahh!“

Her words were dissolved into a shriek when he enveloped her clit roughly with his lips, grazing it lightly with his teeth, only to abandon it the very next second to give attention to the smooth skin of her thigh, least desperate for stimulation. 

"If you don't let me come I swear to god — ," she sobbed.

"I thought you wanted me to torture you," he said, letting his hot breath gust against her wetness. 

"I hate you."

He released a soft whisper against her skin as his answer. She couldn't quite make the words out. Then he began tracing her labia with his forefinger, carefully teetering around the area where she needed him the most. She was so aroused even the tiniest of brush made her quiver.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he whispered.

She fought the urge to say yes. Her whole body was burning and aching, screaming for release, but she knew Marcus wouldn't give it to her just because she asked nicely. That was not how this game worked.

"I want you to do absolutely anything you want with me," she breathed out. 

His features twisted. For a moment, he looked  _ feral _ .

Abby found herself unable to resist as his hands snaked from her hands to twine roughly around her shoulders. He yanked her up from the bed. Her body exploded into shivery flutters at his forceful motions. It was incredible how strong he was and how easy it was for him to sweep her to the other side of the room.

He slammed her against his curtain-veiled wall. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his torso, but Marcus seized her thigh, pushing her against the hard surface. He didn't allow her to rut into him, keeping her in his iron grip instead. 

He repeated her earlier plea. "Is that what you truly want, baby?“

“You know what I want."

He let his hands wander up her body, his touch a hint shaky. It was almost as if he was faced with a temptation too great to give into with a steady hand. 

His next question was scarcely more than an exhale. 

"Is this what you want?"

He wrenched off the curtain from behind her with one violent motion. She gasped. Her back hit the cool, smooth surface of a window.

Her heart stopped.

"Is it?" he asked again, tracing the hard peaks of her nipples with his thumb. They seemed to only tighten at the delicious sensation of her bare buttocks pressed against the glass of his floor-to-ceiling window. She could see the city lights reflected on the back wall. She could barely breathe for the sheer depravity of it.

Abby could only nod, her eyes clenched tightly shut.

"I can't hear you."

"Please fuck me. Please, Marcus, please," she begged.

Then, in an instant, he'd plunged two fingers inside her. Abby gasped sharply, the sound soon swallowed by his impatient, greedy mouth. 

He drank her moans and sighs like sweet wine, fucking her faster and faster with his fingers. The rhythm was punishing. He held her up cradled against his chest, crooking his fingers inside her against the precise spot that made her vision dim with blinding pleasure.

He knew how she liked it. He had been listening.  _ Perhaps too keenly _ , Abby thought as his thumb made an ever-so-light push against her clit and she let out a desperate gasp. Her eyes were threatening to spill some carefully held back tears. 

Now there were three fingers, fucking her mercilessly against the window. Her moans and sobs rose deep from her chest, dripping loud and desperate from her lips.

She wished she could lie and say the soul-shattering orgasm building deep inside her core had nothing to do with being pressed, naked, against his window as he fucked her with his fingers. She wished she could tell herself the shivery-delicious, maddening bursts of arousal she felt every time she thought about someone watching was just something she imagined.

No, she knew better. And so did Marcus.

He could read her like music. He knew where to touch and press to wrench the most beautiful sounds from her throat. He knew the faster he fucked her and the more her back rocked against the window, the more her pleasure intensified. He knew the crescendo was coming. 

"Come for me, baby," he whispered.

She unraveled. 

For a few fleeting pure-white moments, she was lost to the world. Her only anchor to reality was Marcus’ arms around her and the weight of his cock pressing against her stomach.

They slid down together on the floor. She collapsed against him, and he let her head rest on his chest. His heartbeat and her own ragged exhales were the only thing she could hear for a while, struggling to catch her breath. 

As the shivers subsided and her body stilled again, the last tendrils of her violent climax leaving her sweaty and gasping, she realized it. 

_ This was it _ . The most shattering orgasm of her life. 

One could assume it was exactly why she'd come to her boss' apartment for which coincidentally happened to be the man she'd been feeding her deepest and darkest fantasies for months now. And yet…

It was still not enough. She was still aching with emptiness. 

She let her chest slowly expand and contract while wondering why it felt so bad to have Marcus withdraw from her, his fingers to leave her skin and the weight of him lessen. He didn't look at her. She hated that she wouldn't.

It was as if he suddenly felt guilty. 

Abby wouldn't let him. If they only had this one night, they would do it with no regrets.

His cockhead brushed against her thigh as he moved. Her breath hitched in her throat for one heartbeat.  _ He _ was what she needed, not just his fingers or his mouth.

She grabbed his cock. Marcus didn't have time to react before her fingers wrapped nicely around the thick shaft. 

_ Truly, every part of him is unfairly beautiful _ , she thought as she studied his long and veiny cock. Some glistening precum had gathered on the tip, and she couldn't help but smear it gently over the head. He hissed as if in pain.

"Did I give you permission to touch me?" he murmured, yet didn't remove the hand slowly stroking him with deft little fingers. 

"No, Sir."

She didn't stop.

His eyes were dark as night, his breathing strainedly measured as he watched Abby go up and down on his cock. She liked the way he studied her. She also liked to meet his gaze with her own whenever she brushed the sensitive ridge below the head or danced her fingertips over the underside. Seeing his eyes clench and his breath hitch was mesmerizing. 

She kept an innocent, wide-eyed expression on her face as she started pumping his cock with furious speed. Behind the veil of her lashes, she watched the first beads of sweat gather on his forehead. 

Suddenly, she stopped. He groaned. As delicious as it would be too bring him to climax with just her fingers, that would considerably postpone the fun she wanted to have together. 

Marcus finally reacted when she started to slowly align herself with his cock. He seized her wrist into his tight grip. 

“On one condition," he said, lowering his free hand on her thigh. He started caressing her sensitive skin with slow circles, keenly studying the shiver-inducing effect it had on her. His voice lowered. "Tell me the man who gave you the hickey was nothing."

Abby almost chuckled as she thought of Jaha. Would it be possible for someone to be on a lower level than nothing? 

He released her wrist, lifting his hand to the patch of skin where the mark had been. He brushed his thumb over it as if he could still see it. He looked at the spot with dark, ferocious eyes. Abby couldn't fight the hot, pleasurable wave that surged through her at the gaze. Only now she realized how badly she'd truly wanted to see him jealous for her sake. Marcus Kane, always so detached, so emotionless  — wanting her bad, so bad just the thought of another man enraged him. And he'd been able to do nothing about it.

When she didn't answer, Marcus removed his hand from her thigh. She had to fight against letting out a disappointed sob. She thought it was all part of the game, some extra step in the tortuous game of his, until she saw his face.

His face had turned stony, his features strained. He was wearing the perfect mask of indifference, but his eyes betrayed him. His gaze was bottomless and hollow. She could see a hint of doubt and fear and anguish in it. It was as if there were more, deeper things than her pleasure dependent on her answer. 

Somehow sensing the weight of this moment, she collected herself to the best of her ability and cupped Marcus' cheek with her hand.

"It is you who I want," she whispered.

The look in his eyes softened, and suddenly, something unbearably hot and pleasantly warm at the same time flared up inside her chest and then she was clutching at the fabric of his shirt, kissing him deeply and desperately. Marcus eagerly responded, twining her in his embrace and climbing on top of her.

Marcus pressed breathless kisses on her lips before parting just for a moment to meet her gaze. Holding her gaze, he entered her. 

The next thing she knew, her mouth had opened into a wide gasp. Her eyes were closed. Her hands had balled into tiny fists. Only the most base nooks of her mind were aware that Marcus Kane was finally inside her. The more advanced parts of her brain were utterly fogged over by the magnificent, eye-watering sensation of being filled, stretched, pinned against the floor by his solid body.

He was long and thick, feeling better inside her than she could ever possibly have dreamed. Each one of his fierce thrusts were masterfully targeted against the very spot that made her scream and melt and tremble. The bastard seemed to know exactly how good he was. He captured her lips again and again, almost smiling against her mouth as he fucked the breath out of her.

Suddenly, he slowed down and she was alight with fury.

He was drawing it out. He had to be. He knew exactly how long she'd dreamed of this, how exactly she'd pictured it, how rough and fast she desperately needed it to be, and now he was denying it from her for no reason at all.

She broke off their kiss. "Harder."

He didn't answer. Good thing she was not above begging.

"Harder, Sir. Harder. Please, don't hold back."

"Call me Marcus."

He had almost completely ceased his movements. She didn't understand.

"What?"

"Please, Abby. It's only ever Marcus for you."

She met his eyes. Again, the same impossible vulnerability and darkness swam in his eyes, and she didn't know what to say or do. He had the frightening ability to render her utterly clueless. 

With some unknown emotion burning bright in her chest, she slung her arms around his neck and kissed him, deeply and desperately. Marcus answered her kiss with just as much vigor and yearning. He began thrusting into her again, but this time, her back didn't ache from the force of his motions. He was being firm and attentive, his dark eyes fully focused on charging each thrust with the most amount of pleasure he could manage to bring her, but he was considerably slower. He was not rough or fierce and didn't rut into her with the maniac, maddening lust like before.

For some reason, she didn't mind.

Only when he began kissing her, caressing her body in a way that couldn't be described as anything but tender while fucking her in a comfortable rhythm, her mind began to loudly protest.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

He was supposed to fuck her until she was bruised and aching for weeks, not look at her like  _ that _ and hold her like he didn't want to break her. And why wasn't she digging her nails into his back, scratching him and urging him to pick up a more frantic pace? She needed to fight this, she needed to infuriate him until it all clicked into place again.. 

She keened at a sudden, soul-convulsing thrust against her burning center. 

"Beautiful. Beautiful. Just like that," he kept exhaling, his fingers tracing the outlines of her face, his speed steadily increasing. He was looking at her like there was no one else in the world. Her head swam and her throat was turning dry. 

His words that had been haunting the back of her mind resurfaced.  _ I don’t give a damn about the job! _

"Marcus..." she tried, even when her whole body protested. Talking and thinking were the last things she needed to do.

Marcus hushed her gently. 

"Just let me take care of you."

So she did. She held onto him like her life depended on it until she tipped over the precipice together with him, their physical bodies safe and sound on the floor, entwined together.


	8. Chapter 8

Marcus woke up to obnoxiously bright sunlight boring into his eyes. When he blinked them open, he was faced with a wallful of blue skies and sun. Briefly, he wondered why he hadn't managed the simple task of closing the curtains before falling to his bed, until the sweet details of last night came back to him in full, glorious vividness.

_Abby_. 

He stretched out his hand, only to feel cool sheets on his right side.

In an instant, his insides deflated.

What a moron he'd been to think, even for a single moment, that she'd stay. 

He sat up, inspecting his surroundings. He was hoping to find an article of clothing, even a miniscule one, that could give him the excuse to try to contact her. He couldn't let her leave like this, not after the wonder that was last night.

His musings were halted by the sight of her underwear on the floor. Surely, she wouldn't leave without those on. The rush wouldn't be that great even away from a man like him. 

He tugged on the first pants he could find and stumbled out of the bedroom door. There they were. Her jeans and blouse were still in a pile on the floor. The trail of clothing lead to the kitchen where he could hear a sweet humming voice.

He followed the sound and the delicious scent of breakfast into the kitchen where he was met with the most startling sight; Abby Griffin, wearing only his oversized, loosely buttoned shirt and a pair of his boxers, was turning eggs on a pan.

She turned her head. Behind the veil of her messy curls, a smiling face appeared. "I'm sorry if I woke you. I figured I'd have to get up early to go home and change before work. I was called in. Somebody needs to go cover for you and fast. But first, breakfast."

Marcus stared speechlessly at her as she turned back to her work and continued humming. There was no lovelier sound on Earth.

He was not entirely sure whether he was still dreaming.

"Why are you looking at me so dopely?“ she finally asked. 

"I suppose I'm just surprised that you are still here. And cooking, nonetheless"

"How so?"

"Remember last night? The unspeakable things we did to each other?" Marcus asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Most women probably couldn't face me after all that."

"What do people usually do after fucking their boss then?"

"I'm not your boss anymore."

"Shame. I guess that means I can kiss that promotion goodbye."

Marcus' guts did an ugly cartwheel. 

A moment later, peals of laughter erupted from her lips.

"I'm joking. Look at your face, you idiot."

Her smiling eyes flickered towards his lips. It was contagious. Suddenly, all he could think about was that red mouth of hers, and her breasts, her beautiful creamy breasts only barely covered by his half-buttoned shirt. Not to mention her long, perfect legs…

The astonishment of seeing her in his kitchen was starting to make way for the familiar pleasant-hot feeling coursing through his veins, making his cock stir. After seven times last night, he didn't think it would have even been possible. He should never underestimate the power of Abby Griffin in his clothes.

He wrapped his arms around her slight frame and pressed his lips on her neck. She melted against him, sighing deeply. The sweet sound was enough to rob him of his senses. 

In an instant, he had her hoisted up on the counter, his lips fused with hers. She surrendered instantly, slinging his arms around him, only making a half-hearted gesture towards the eggs on the pan.

He only deepened the kiss as his answer. Let the damn food burn again. Let the house burn down for all he cared. 

Abby seemed to be able to read his thoughts because she began grinning against his lips. He broke away, turning to look at the beautiful woman in front of him. The fact that she was still here, smiling in his arms, was too good to be true. 

"It's just that people don't generally tend to stick around," he continued his previous thought, pressing lazy kisses along her jawline before placing one on her mouth. 

She suddenly froze. She was stiff against his lips, making him open his eyes. Her face had fallen ever so slightly and she couldn't quite meet his gaze. 

Something was wrong. 

"You know me better than that. I wouldn't just slink away like some coward," she answered, evasive.

Something in her voice told him that she'd considered that option — but decided against it. 

Something sank in his stomach. Abby pushed strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes back behind her ear.

"Maybe I should get back to the breakfast," she said, glancing at the still sizzling pan.

"Are you going to stay?" Marcus asked quietly.

”I wish I had time for one last round, but I told you I have to go to work—"

He shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. I need to know if you're going to _stay_."

She caught his meaning. He could tell it by the way her shoulders slumped. 

"Marcus…" 

The sinking feeling got even worse by the resigned way she said his name. But he wouldn't allow that resignation wash over him too. He was going to fight. There was no other choice because it was _her_.

"No. I will have none of that. You can't possibly be telling me that after what happened last night, after the sheer fucking magic of it, you are simply opting out?"

Last night was something incredible," she admitted in one breathless whisper. "But we both knew it couldn't go beyond that. This was what we wanted, what we _needed_ — and now that it's done, there won't be any what-ifs and second guessing ourselves. Last night — and this morning to some extent — was where our relationship was always headed. A natural conclusion. A period. It was never meant as a start of something more."

"Abby—" 

"Don't ruin it. The jury is still out whether you are forgiven or not. I know I was never just a plaything for you, and you had called it when it had gotten too far. But you definitely won’t benefit from me thinking any harder about everything that transpired. I don't want to think. I just want to appreciate last night as the beautiful thing it was and enjoy this morning. Please, don't ruin it by calling it anything but sex, Marcus."

"But was it really just sex? Was it _ever_?" 

Abby bit her lip. The brown of her eye gained a sorrowful hue. He felt a spark of hope that she wanted to tell him what he wanted to hear, but her whole body screamed of conflict.

"It doesn't matter," she finally replied. His heart convulsed.

”How could it not? For god’s sake Abby, that's insane!” 

Her expression darkened. ”Don’t yell at me.”

Marcus took a step back before he gave into his urge to break something. He swept a frustrated hand through is hair instead of knocking over the nearest chair. He felt dizzy, nauseous. 

”Look, I’m sorry. I just—"

He sighed, burying his face momentarily in his hands. It was himself he was angry with. He'd blown this a long time ago, and there was nothing he could do about his past actions. 

But she was still here, and he'd never forgive himself if he let her slip past his fingers. 

"Just give me a shot. A single chance is all I need,” he pleaded.

Abby evaded his gaze, making him dread her next words. 

"I can't. I won't. The base is all wrong, and we both know it."

"Abby, please..."

"What did you think I was going to tell my friends when they asked how we got together? Or my _daughter_?“

And just like that, all of his hope was snuffed out. 

"I just can't be with you. You knew I couldn't," she said quietly as the final dagger to his chest.

He slumped on the nearest chair. He watched numbly as she gathered her clothes and began tugging them on, rushing to check on the food every now and then. He was no longer certain whether her staying had been a cruelty or a kindness. Having the dream of getting to somehow _keep_ her crushed was painful beyond description, but not entirely unpredictable. Hadn't he always been the one deceiving himself about the nature of their relationship?

In reality, having these few extra moments with her was probably more than he deserved.

Finally, Abby came to him with a cup of coffee in her hands. He accepted it with a forced smile.

"I'm sorry if I ruined this morning," he sighed, running his fingers through his tangled hair. His hair had to be ruffled beyond salvation now. "I hope you don't regret sneaking out while I was asleep. I wouldn't have blamed you."

She sat opposite of him with her own steaming mug. "I don't think I do. I mean, I'm wearing the boxers of my asshole boss I have dreamed of throttling more often than not, but instead of loathing myself, all I can think about is how happy I am to see that ridiculous bed hair." 

"Yours is not much less amusing."

"Oi." She started coming through her unruly curls with her fingers. 

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

"It's funny. A few weeks ago I would have rather died than let you see me like this," she continued, laughing a little.

A quiet sort of sadness darkened Marcus' soul again.

"I wish things had been different," escaped a whisper past his lips.

Abby's smile faded. She looked down at her cup.

"Me too.”

* * *

She didn't know what possessed her to accept Marcus' offer to give her a ride to her apartment and then to work. A part of her proclaimed she was more than justified in letting him do that because she wouldn't have made it in time otherwise, but a small, less logical part of her knew that wasn't the reason she'd nodded so eagerly. 

The same part of her was aware of the exact amount of pain it would eventually cause her to say goodbye and wanted to postpone it.

A continuous choir of accusations and insults blared in her head as she sat in the silence of the car, Marcus' strong, sense-hijacking presence right beside her. _You are being an idiot. You are being an idiot. You are being an idiot._

Wasn't this what she'd always wanted? To fuck the fury and frustration out of her system with her boss until she could finally start to live again?

That had probably not been the healthiest option she could've taken, but there was no turning back now. He'd made her come more times than she could count, and no magic potion in the world could eradicate a single magnificent second of it from her mind. 

The only thing left to do was to give the natural purification process in her system time. Soon, Kane and her little BDSM experiment would only be a distant memory she could cheekily allude to at dinner parties she would surely throw after she'd moved on with her life and became the balanced, happy, successful woman Jake would have wanted her to be.

She would have to quit. That was probably what a sane woman should do after everything she and _him_ had done at their oh-so-respectable workplace. She might as well work in a familiar environment before figuring out what exactly she needed to do to become a functioning person. 

Finally, Marcus pulled the car in the company parking lot.

Abby was clutching the purse in her hands, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. They sat in silence, staring together at the grey concrete wall of the business park. She opened her mouth to say something, anything that could sufficiently summarize their time together into one bite-sized sentence she could utter and never look back. 

But he beat her to talking. 

"I remember the first day you started working here. I could hear your heels clacking against the floor from a mile away before you waltzed inside the conference room right in the middle of a meeting. You had this fierce look in your eyes as if you were offended we had started without you. All the gazes turned towards you, but mine were the only one you held. One look. That was all it took, and I was lost."

He chuckled a little, in a somewhat self-deprecating manner. Abby didn't know what to say. She could only listen on. 

"After only one week, I knew I wanted you more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. You probably had no idea about the intoxicating quality you had. I came to crave every moment I could excuse myself into your company like a junkie. I was not the dating type, I had long ago accepted the fact that I couldn't make anything last, but with you — there was just no other choice but to throw myself into the ring. But just when I had, ridiculously enough, mustered the courage to ask you to go for a drink with me, I learned you were a widow of only one year. You had a grieving heart, you had a daughter and I was everything you didn't need."

His voice turned graver, more resigned.

"You know what kind of a man I am. I was not made to comfort, to hold, or to be soft. I'm not someone you'd want to keep.”

Abby could feel her throat closing up. She wanted to say something, anything, but what was there to even say? 

With the way it had gone, it just couldn't be. 

"After I gave up my pursuit, I started treating you like anyone else. I was almost counting on that you'd start hating me like the others, and with time, you did. It should've made it easier to suffocate it, stomp it to death, annihilate it until nothing remained. But it never went away. You got under my skin, rattled me and infuriated me in a way that no one else could. I started calling it lust instead. You probably knew I wanted to fuck you and deduced that was why I let everything go as far as it went, but what I want you know is that it wasn't just that."

"What are you trying to tell me, Marcus?"

"I love you."

There was a long pause, long enough for civilizations to rise and fall in Abby's mind before Marcus finally sighed and spoke up again. 

"The reason I'm telling you this is because I don't want you to remember me as that bastard who betrayed your trust. Not even as the man who fucked you last night. When you look back at me someday, my only wish is that you think of me as that man who was too much of an idiot to let you know. Or perhaps, not idiot enough." He gave a faint laugh. 

Finally, he turned to her with his hand outstretched, a weak, barely-there smile on his face. 

"It was a pleasure to hate you."

Abby, still reeling from the information just given to her, took a few seconds to grab his hand. "Likewise," she stuttered, shaking it.

This was it then. It was time for her to gracefully leave the car and not let it show how much he'd just shaken her world. Pretend it would be easy to walk away from him. 

She didn't feel like it was possible.

Just after she'd finally found it in herself to nudge the car door open and duck out, she heard Marcus' door open with a clack too. 

As he rose, their gazes met over the roof of the car.

"This is a little awkward. I think I actually need to go up and get some of my stuff," he said, abashed. 

When he'd left his resignation letter, Marcus hadn't possessed the clearest of minds. He hadn't emptied the drawers of his office before marching out, and now that he was at the office, he actually needed to do it before his replacement threw out the pictures of his mother and other valuable items into the trash. This, he explained to Abby, accompanied by an embarrassed hand gesture while they walked together towards the entrance, a careful three feet distance between them.

"Yeah, I figured," Abby answered. It did make sense he'd leave so suddenly.

_I don't give a damn about the job!_

Their separation just kept on getting postponed, and now it was finally starting to feel like torture. Marcus and his words kept swirling in her head like a hurricane, and as long as he was so near, her resolution to step out of the relationship was getting muddier and muddier. A thought flashed in her mind, saying that if this ended with one last tumble in the nearest supply closet, she wouldn't exactly protest.

She clenched her fist. No. It would be cruel to do that to the man who'd just told her he loved her. _And she'd hadn't been able to say it back_. 

Suddenly, she felt like curling on the ground and staying there until the end of time. When the hell had her life turned this complicated?

They stepped together inside the lobby which was already filled with people. Everyone's curious gazes turned towards Marcus almost simultaneously. Fear flashed in some people's eyes. Had he come to reclaim his tyrannical position? 

He didn't appear to notice. He advanced toward the security guard to pass through to the elevators, only to halt midway through. 

"What is it?" Abby asked.

"I— I forgot I actually don't work here anymore," Marcus said, looking at the employees flashing their badges to the guard and passing through. He knew as well as Abby that everyone lacking a badge was promptly stopped, and in some cases, tasered. 

It was close she didn't burst into maniacal giggles. For someone so organized and level-headed, Marcus could certainly be stupid at times.

He'd dug up his phone. "I'm just going to call around and get myself a visitor's pass somehow—" 

"There's no need." Abby smiled a little. "I can go to your office and bring you whatever you want to take with you."

She didn't know what compelled her to offer to do that. It would be so easy to just pass by the guard and leave him to sort it out on his own. It was not as if she owed him anything. Hell, they weren't even friends.

Still, she felt warm inside when Marcus offered her a grateful smile.

* * *

It was strange to step inside Marcus' office again. It was so imprinted in her memory as the place where they'd almost given in and fucked each other that she felt visceral traces of arousal just by looking at the door he'd pressed her against. She hugged herself, trying not to look at any flat surface she'd imagined Kane slamming her against and rushed to his drawers.

She began filling a box she'd grabbed from HR with miscellaneous items. Marcus had told her to ignore everything that had to do with work and just bring back his personal items, but it was hard to follow that rule. She grabbed his trusted pencil. The one he'd always used to push under his lip while concentrating during meetings. There also went his stapler she sometimes liked to misplace just for those few seconds of watching him fumble for it on his desk, his brow in a deep annoyed crease as she observed the fruitless pursuit in amusement. She also found a half-finished write-up about her deep in his drawers. 

_Griffin's arrogant streak makes our cooperation nearly impossible_

She smiled and slipped the paper inside the box too. Something for him to remember her by. 

Suddenly, she felt a painful twist in her gut as she looked at the box. Why did it felt so much like something good was ending?

Ignoring the sensation, she focused her mind on scouring through the countless of post-it-notes on his desk. As she picked up one, she accidentally moved the mouse of his computer and his screen flashed on.

Again, she found herself staring at the desktop picture of their company retreat. She was still in the middle, smiling widely at the camera.

She thought back to what Marcus had told her in the car, and an odd sense of understanding washed over her.

_So that explains it._

She wondered why he'd picked just this picture of her. There were probably countless other company pictures where she'd looked far nicer. In this one, her hat barely covered the horrible mistake that had been the blond streaks in her hair, and she remembered she'd had to force out that smile.

That day had been horrible. The company picnic had coincided with her and Jake's wedding anniversary, but she hadn't wanted to drop out of the retreat. It was the first team building event she'd participate in and she wanted to prove herself to be a good fit. So she'd gotten her hair dyed, bought new clothes and tried desperately to be a new version of herself, this happy, successful woman with an amazing job — only to fail miserably. 

The night had come and they were playing music by the campfire when she'd slinked away from the crowd. She'd found an empty, small beach to hide in and had cried almost as hard that night as the day Jake had passed away.

Fortunately, no one had spotted her. Well, no one but this one man she'd heard approach her after she'd already been weeping for a good twenty minutes. She'd been fully prepared to tell him to fuck off, not caring whether it endangered her job or not, when he'd just quietly sat by her side.

He'd been silent and still while she'd cried and spluttered and made all sorts of ugly noises. There was not a word, not even the smallest trace of judgement coming from him. The only thing he did was wrap his jacket around her shoulders when she'd started shivering in the cool wind.

In the end, his calming presence was able to dry her tears and envelop her in a sense of safety. They sat together in silence until the music and chatter from other began to quiet down. She'd become so grateful for his company and the warmth and sympathy that had radiated off him that she'd wanted to thank him, but she hadn't had the chance. He'd risen to leave, and she hadn't found the words. They had choked up her throat and dripped down into her heart never to be let out. 

She'd never seen his face. The only thing left of him had been the jacket she was never able to return because none of the men from her department responded to the flyers she'd left around the office in pursuit of the owner.

Abby let her eyes drift away from herself in the picture and shift to Marcus' always so serious face in the corner. She began tracing his familiar-looking grey wool jacket with her thumb.

_Oh you bastard. I should have known._

It was strange how natural it felt to realize it had been Marcus and his jacket all along. It was as if she'd known the whole time, somewhere beneath the surface. 

Abby returned to her memories and gave her anonymous comforter his face. It was as easy as breathing.

God, why it was it always him lingering at the back of her mind? Why did she always picture…

And at that moment, it hit her like a sledgehammer.

She sat frozen on his chair, paralyzed by the realization. It was as if lead weights were pushing her down, rendering her unable to move, breathe, even blink. 

_Did she?_

_She couldn't. It wasn't possible. There was no snowball's chance in hell…_

_She had._

_She did._

She wrenched herself off the chair, leaping up to her feet. She walked out of the office. The box was left on the floor.

Then, she ran.

People were staring as she rushed down the hallway. She didn't care. She kicked off her heels that hindered her way, and she only felt like laughing when multiple coworkers laid concerned looks on her. She didn't understand why she'd given a damn about what others thought before. 

"Are you okay, Abby?" someone asked.

"More than!" she called out before disappearing into the stairway. She didn't have the patience to wait for an elevator.

She flew down the stairs three steps at the time. She could hardly feel her feet graze the ground but had no fear of stumbling. Even if the stairway had suddenly caught on fire, the flames wouldn't have stopped her. Nothing could.

Finally, she reached the ground floor. Abby couldn't even see the people she weaved through as she crossed the lobby. All she could see was him, leaning against the wall, absently playing with his phone and intermittently glancing out of the window. _That stupid, wonderful bastard._

He saw her approaching, turned, pocketed his phone, took a step toward her — only for Abby to almost topple him over from the force she crashed against him, her arms slinging around his neck.

"Abby, what are you—" 

"I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you _so_ bad."

His eyes widened. He looked so endearingly shocked she couldn't help but rise on her tiptoes and slam her lips against his, right in the middle of the lobby. 

His phone dropped on the floor with a crack. 

Marcus didn't seem to care. He responded to the kiss almost immediately, but in a more tentative, uncertain manner. As if he wasn't sure this was actually real. 

People were whispering and mumbling all around them now. Someone even whistled. She didn't care, only tangled her fingers deeper into his soft hair. Marcus clasped his arms around her. She could feel him smiling incredulously against her lips.

He looked bewildered and questioning when she breathlessly parted a few seconds later.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy about this turn of events," he exhaled. "But how—" 

"It was you. It was always you. And not just in the fantasies. When you texted in the middle of the night about that boring French movie you were watching, it was you who I imagined. It was you singing along to Mark Knopfler while washing dishes, you smiling at my hungover picture and calling me pretty, you covering with me jacket on a windy beach so many years ago. I can't believe I didn't realize it until now. "

Marcus was visibly robbed of his ability to speak. He kept tucking strands of hair behind Abby's ear, trying to find the right words to say. Finally, he managed one sentence.

"This was not a part of the arrangement," he croaked out.

Abby couldn't help but give out a laugh. "I know."

"The integrity of our partnership has crumbled."

"We better start a new one then." 

Happiness bubbled inside her chest. Screw conventions and better judgement. This is what she wanted. _He_ was what she wanted.

His expression suddenly turned grave.

"Are you sure? As I told you, I'm not the sort of person people stick around with," he said, his voice low and hesitant. It was as if he truly believed that she'd change her mind and walk away from him any second now. 

The vulnerable look in his eyes made her heart ache and melt at the same time.

"Oh Marcus, you should know by now how I hate to do what is expected of me.”

For the first time in his life, Marcus did something completely unprofessional in front of his subordinates and, with his hair ruffled and tie askew, captured Abby in a heart-stopping kiss.

* * *

_- > What are you wearing? _

_- > Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to have a normal conversation with you via text _

_- > Answer the question, baby _

_- > White socks, sports bra, the biggest and loosest granny panties money can buy _

_- > Sexy _

_- > You know it _

_- > What else? _

_- > Just my regular work clothes and black heels. Oh and there's also this new diamond ring in my finger I tricked some poor fool into giving me _

_- > I'm sure that someone was very happy to be tricked. _

_- > As am I to have tricked him. I have a feeling Raven swallowed her gum whole when she saw it _

_- > What did Charmaine say? _

_- > She told me that If she hadn't seen me jump you in the middle of the lobby a year ago, she would have been willing to bet money it was a green card deal _

_- > Are you sure you're not secretly Canadian? _

_- > I cannot guarantee it _

_- > I knew it. The wedding's off _

_- > You wish. I will drag you screaming and kicking to the altar if that's what it takes _

_- > I'm starting to regret getting this number in the first place _

_- > No you don't. You're one lucky man, Marcus Kane _

_- > I know. In all seriousness, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me _

_- > Save the mushy stuff for your vows. What even is the point of this five minute coffee break if this doesn't evolve into sexting? _

_- > What would your subordinates think about your habit of sexting at work? _

_- > I’m just taking after the previous boss _

_- > I heard that guy was a real bastard _

_- > Hey, he is my bastard _

_- > Sounds like someone has a crush _

_- > Don't tell him, but I think I might just love him _

_- > I love you too, baby _

_- > I lied earlier. I'm not wearing absolutely any underwear _

_- > Is it possible to ask you to marry me twice? _

_- > Of course, but only if you are able to make it here in 20. Hurry _

_- > Yes, Ma'am _


End file.
